#and then if it doesn’t have triggering stuff it’ll still have stuff I can’t handle and stuff that makes me v uncomfy

[theshadowrealmitself]

Would love to rewatch Supernatural for all those scenes of Cas clearly favoring Dean, unfortunately that would require rewatching Supernatural tho

[luveline]

Hi Jade! Can I request Spencer and Nurse!reader? Maybe they meet when he’s wounded/she’s patching him up?

(Yes I’m a nursing student I promise we aren’t all mean girls 😔)

ty for requesting!! ik ur not all mean of course!!<3 —you meet the cutest FBI agent ever and tend his wounds. fem, 1.5k

One of the small pleasures of your job is when the patients are cute. Not many people come through as handsome as this one. You’re professional nonetheless. 

“What am I seeing you for today?” you ask, holding your hands behind your back. 

Your patient, charted as a Dr. Spencer Walter Reid, twenty nine years old, gives you a tentative smile. “Someone hit me really hard.” 

You can see the bruise forming against his temple. “Yes, I’d say so. Did you know the assailant?” 

“No, but it’s handled.” His smile turns to a grimace. “Uh, I get these, like, debilitating migraines, and I feel like I have one coming on.”

“A head injury could trigger that,” you agree, holding your hands out in front of you, little torch in hand. “Can I have a look?” you ask softly. 

When you’ve been a nurse for some time, you start to categorise people into boxes. All kinds of boxes for different things, but Spencer Reid gets a tick for a few things straight away: shy, pretty, and sensitive to touch. He must not get touched much, or he’s had a bad experience with strangers. He did just get hit in the head, you allow, brushing a sweet, mousy curl away from his head and holding it out of the way as you shine a light into each of his eyes. He flinches hard, but his pupils react as expected. 

Whoever hit him managed to break the skin, upon closer infection of the injury. The skin has turned purple at the edges of his cut. It’ll be a big bruise in just a few hours. 

“Spencer, please tell me if I hurt you, honey,” you say, voice still soft. If he’s got a migraine coming, he won’t want your usual overloud distinction. 

“It’s okay. It hurts, but not more or less when you poke it.” 

“You have a laceration, yeah? It’s about three centimetres long, but deep. I can close it with a butterfly stitch, if you’re okay with that.” 

“Yeah, please. Um, about the migraine–”

“Do you want a tramadol, honey? I think you deserve one.” 

“I can’t have narcotics.” 

You pull back and straighten the hair you’d displaced. “That’s okay, it just means you can’t have the strongest stuff. Most people try to avoid them anyhow. How about tylenol, would that be alright? Or do you avoid painkillers in general?” 

“Tylenol is fine as long as it doesn’t have the codeine with it.” 

You give him a gentle nod. “I’ll make sure it’s the right one. You can even see the bottle, if you like. Would you want them before or after the stitch?” He probably knows, but you add, “It’s not a real stitch. But it might feel tender when I’m poking around.” 

“Anything. Whatever you want to do first.” 

His eyes squeeze closed. You give him a frown he can’t see, and rest your hand on his arm. “Is there someone here with you?” you ask him.

“My friend is coming, I think. There was a lot going on.” 

“That’s okay. I’m not sending you home until I’ve fixed you, Dr. Reid.” 

He smiles, even with his eyes closed, but doesn’t say anything more. You wash your hands and find your bandages. A butterfly bandage, a sterile wipe, and a square piece of gauze to cover it cleanly. His eyes are opening again when you return, ushering him gently down the bed so you can sit on his right side near the injury. 

“What do you do for work?” you ask him. 

“I work for the FBI.” 

“You do?” You tear open the sterile wipe and again pull the curls from his forehead. “This might sting. Please tell me if it hurts too much.” 

“It’s not the cut that hurts.” 

“I’m sorry,” you say sympathetically. Migraines are a tricky business. If he’s already having one, you probably can’t do much to get rid of it, but that doesn’t mean pain relief won’t help. “I’ll do this as quickly as I can.” 

He’s quiet. You wipe around the laceration with careful, concise movements. The cut looks clean enough when you’re done, and it’s so small you won’t irrigate it. 

“Are you an agent?” you ask. 

“Yeah. Special supervisory with the BAU. The, uh, behavioural analysis unit.” 

“Oh, I know,” you say, putting the wrapping and the dirtied wipe into your cardboard bowl. “I think I’ve seen it on TV sometimes, you guys can track the serial killers and stuff?” 

“Mostly that, yeah. Uh, sometimes we find trafficking rings or missing kids. Sometimes we manage hostage situations. It depends on the level of the crisis.” 

“So you’re the big gun.” 

“I guess so. I’m not actually good with a gun.” 

“No one has to be good with a gun to change the world.” You pull the butterfly stitch from the packaging and pick at a finicky end. “I hate guns.” 

He sighs. “I do, too.” 

“They make my job hard. It’s not nice, seeing what they can do to people. It’s awful, really. Spencer, I’m so sorry, honey, I’m just gonna put this on here, it might feel uncomfortable as I pull the sides together.” 

“It’s okay.” 

You pull the plastic of the butterfly stitch on both sides, cinching his cut together promptly. It looks better now you can’t see the inside. 

“I’m gonna cover this with the dressing now. You don’t have to keep it on if you don’t want to, it’s a pretty small cut, it was just deep. I’d recommend you try to keep it dry for two days, really, you should keep it covered, but it’s up to you. And if anything happens, if it gets infected, you can always come see me again.” 

You’re mildly flirting, then. Just because he’s nice and shy. It might be a little cruel of you to proposition a man when he’s roughed up, though. 

Spencer, luckily, understands that you’re not trying to harass him. “Thank you.” 

You stand, peeling the plastic from the bandaid and exposing the sticky backing. Slowly, you stroke his hair back from the wound and line the bandaid up. He shivers under your nails. 

“So sorry,” you say, laughing under your breath, “it’s my nails, huh?” 

“It’s okay.” 

“You’re a great patient, Spencer. I’d give you a sticker if I could, I’m not kidding.” 

“You’re a great nurse.” 

“Thank you.” You smooth the edges of the bandaid down for good measure and step away from him to assess him. “How’s that migraine?” 

“Getting worse.” 

“You have them often, you said? Treated or untreated?” 

“Psychosomatic, apparently.” 

“Oh, honey, I’m sorry. Has your doctor talked to you about CBT?” 

“Some. I don’t really… want it,” he says awkwardly. 

“That’s okay. If it’s psychosomatic as they believe, it might get better with time. How’s the stress in your life?”

“Stressful.” 

“It must be hard, the FBI, everything. Life is hard enough. Stopping serial killers must weigh on your heart.” You smile carefully. “Was there anything else you wanted to bring to my attention? Any other injury, anything that needs urgent care?” 

“I was mostly worried I had a concussion.” 

“It doesn’t seem like it. You’re not nauseous, are you?” 

“No, I don’t think so.” 

He gets this awful, sad look on his face, it really isn’t nice to see. People come in by themselves all the time but it never gets easier to handle. 

“Are you alright?” you ask, taking his arm into your hand. 

“I’m fine.” 

He had the look of someone who’s always fine. Luckily for him, it’s your job to take care of people, to make sure they’re more than fine. “Okay. I’m gonna get you something warm to drink. Do you like donuts?” 

“Uh–”

“I’m getting a feeling about you. Chocolate frosting, I bet.” 

He smiles, startled and pleased at once. “Yeah.” 

“Okay, I’m gonna get those for you. A drink, a donut, and some much needed Tylenol. You can lay down if you like.” 

He nods but doesn’t move. 

As you’re leaving the room, you cross paths with a handsome man with dark skin and a bright smile. Must be something in the air today, you think. 

“Reid, you okay?” you hear him say. 

“Fine.” 

“You’re pink.” 

“What?” 

“You’re blushing. Oh, you had the pretty nurse, didn’t you?” 

“Shut up,” Spencer whispers sharply. 

“You can ask for her number.” 

“No I can’t, she’s working.” 

“But you want to,” his friend surmises. 

You bite down a smile, giving your head a shake as you go. You need to get a move on. Spencer needs a hot drink, a donut, Tylenol, and a pen. It should be okay if you’re both feeling up to it, right?

[demoiselettes]

hihii!! ur blog looks so cute i love it <3 can i req a match up? My name is katie but i go by lun4r online, my pronouns are she/they, and im omnisexual :]

my appearance is kinda pale, pretty short (4'10), dark brown eyes and hair, short hair that has kinda spiky ends (like a wolfcut), and dark circles/eyebags haha. I have an alternative style (emo & scene/scenecore) and i wear things like spiked collars and bracelets, fingerless gloves, *those* type of boots, and LOTS of kandi! I also commonly paint my nails (mostly either black or rainbow) but i pick them a lot so they're very short.

my personality is very anxious, kind, smart, funny (according to my 5 friends), pretty insecure, shy, quiet, and tired. I get hungry easily but i only like certain foods. I have a bunch of disorders (GAD, SAD, MDD/clinical depression, Selective mutism, ADHD, insomnia, and potentially autism) and i get easily overstimulated/overwhelmed by sounds, lights, smells, etc. I have very intense interests that i love to talk about and write stuff for XvX also, i desperately want a significant other, idk if that's helpful but yeah ^^

my hobbies/interests are writing (specifically poetry & essays), reading manga, watching anime, drawing, reading regular books, listening to music, and making kandi stuff (bracelets, necklaces, rings, etc.)

my likes are bats, poetry, psychology, sugary foods, caffeine, nighttime, books, manga, anime, politics, philosophy kinda, emoticons, and making kandi ^_^

my dislikes are hot weather, bugs, heights, multiple sensory things (certain sounds, for example), judgey people, bigots, and doing bad on stuff.

my favorite color is orange but i also like black, pink, green, and purple!

Eventide

I match you with Inosuke Hashibira!

•inosuke’s first thought/impression of you would probs be ‘hey..that must be an important person.’ bc of your style

•He’s definitely going to challenge you to duals and the likes

•It takes him a while to figure out you don’t rule over any mountain and that you’re not a god

•When he does figure it out, he just clicks his tongue and calls you weak- specially due to your height

•But he keeps finding you intriguing, since not a lot of people he knows dress the way you do

•He’s gonna be following you around a lot, pestering you with questions

•It doesn’t take him too long to understand that you don’t enjoy him yelling/screaming

•Of course, he can’t understand exactly why because most animals he’s grown up with growl and shriek and even Gonpachiro and Monitsu yell a lot

•You’re gonna have to take your time to make him understand that these things can easily overwhelm you, and even then it’ll be a long shot before he remembers not to yell around you but he’ll get to it eventually

•Your selective mutism is what puzzles him the most

•He knows you can speak, so why don’t you do so? He knows some people can’t speak at all but you can..

•In the beginning, he’s probably going to think you’re looking down on him and not finding him worth talking to

•So he’s gonna try and show you just how worthy he is by flexing his muscles and sword skills and.. flexibility

•It’s only when his friends tell him that you might just not be too comfortable with speaking that he understands you’re not looking down on him

•This’ll probably be the turning point of your relationship

•He’s gonna ask you a bunch of questions(though not yell them) about your conditions and he’s gonna try and take note to try and not trigger you, though he still finds you puzzling

•In some ways, he understands your desire to have a significant other though in his terms it’s a, um.. ‘mate’ but y’know

•Still, he finds it more virile to fight demons and assert dominance

•Y’know, once he’s gotten the hang of your conditions, he’s definitely gonna be sort of protective of you

•Like if Zenitsu starts screaming he’s gonna slap his head and tell him to quiet down for your sake

•He wouldn’t know what to do much with your anxiety and how to handle it too much, but he’s will try to offer comfort by reassuring you that you’ve got the king of the mountain to protect you !!

•He likes to put you in headlocks and ruffle your hair as a greeting

•And he most definitely wants to dress up like you do, thinks it’d make him more flashy(Tengen really influenced him)

•He’s going to help you make kandi! He’s super bad at it though and gets easily frustrated when he can’t make good ones like you

•I feel like he’d single-handedly go to Obanai and ask him to teach you poetry so he can impress you and ofc he’d get into a fight with the snake pillar cause the latter would refuse

•Knows a lot about bats, having grown up in the forest, and definitely tells you whatever he knows to show just how smart he is, but he also secretly likes seeing you happy you didn’t hear it from me

•On the other hand, he’s much less versed in terms of books and politics and though he isn’t interested in the latter, he’s gonna try and learn how to read so the two of you can spend time reading books together he’s such a closeted softie sldnejsjdb

•I cannot tell you how many times he’d pester you to draw him, he insists he’s one of the best models

•Would ask you to paint his nails too, but he can’t stay still for the love of him

•Okay, i’m sorry but before he learns of your dislike for bugs, he’s gonna bring you ladybugs as ‘gifts’

•But then quickly takes them away from your reaction and never brings any bugs back

•Despite Inosuke having really strong opinions, he’s not all that judgmental. For that reason, he also dislikes people judging him and his minions aka you, Tanjiro and Zenitsu

•He’s not against fighting people who contradict you

•I also feel like he’d compliment you a lot, but they’d always be weird compliments like ‘you look like a wolf’ and what he means is ‘you look regal and elegant’

•He’d give you lots of fruits since he’d know when and where to get the best ones and he thinks they’re healthier for you than sugary foods

•Also has a thing for sneaking you out during the night to stargaze or explore forests even though he’d been caught by Aoi/Shinobu a lot :,)

[miekasa]

NICE.

+ pairings: eren yeager + (fem) reader

+ genres: rich kid au, college au, friends to lovers au, fluff, light-ish angst, smut/nsfw content (everybody gets a piece)!

+ warnings: mentions of depression/anxiety, mentions and use of drugs and alcohol, some of the smut happens under the influence so be cautious if that’s something you don’t like, i swear this is all more idiots in love than angst tho i just wanna disclose everything fairly

+ notes: this is alternatively titled super rich kids and you can probably figure out why. some of this is based off of real life, some of it is straight out of gossip girl and i challenge you to separate the facts from the fiction :’) anyways, i hope we all remember the lyrics to in my feelings

+ more notes: one quick reference for ages in this fic—all the vets are older but not by that much, think various stages of grad school. armin, connie, sasha, annie, and bertholdt are all college sophomores. eren, the reader, and pretty much everybody else are college seniors, so they’re about a year or two older. also here is a playlist for your reading pleasures, shoutout to ryn for letting me mooch of their spotify account :’)

+ word count: 19k. i’m sorry.

+ summary: fuck you, fuck you, you’re cool, fuck you.; or the story of notorious rich kid and self-proclaimed bad boy eren yeager, and his not so goody two-shoes best friend.

“So you’re saying that you don’t love me? That you’re not riding? That you’ll actually leave from beside me?”

“I’m saying that it’s ass o’clock in the morning and I’m not driving in the rain to Brooklyn to pick your sorry ass up.”

“But… but I want you, and I need you, and I’m down for you.”

You check the time on your phone screen and groan. 3:57am. Far too early to be dealing with the likes of Eren Jaeger. “Just get an Uber or something. I don’t know what you and your idiot friends were up to this time, but I don’t want any part of it.”

“First, they’re our idiot friends. Second, I don’t think they let you take Ubers from jail, and even if they did, it’s, like, four in the morning, so I don’t think there are any Ubers driving around, so could you pretty please come pick me up? I promise I’ll make it up to—”

“From where?” you cut him off, slowly sitting upright in your bed. You hold your phone closer to your ear, ready to listen again; because, certainly, you must have misheard him the first time. You wait, but the line is silent, save for Eren’s awkward chuckling. “Eren Asher Jaeger, tell me that that was another stupid lyric from that stupid song, and that you are not in prison right now.”

Eren makes a sad attempt at laughing. “Technically, it’s a holding cell, not really prison… and I would leave, but they suspended my license for a month, and Min can’t drive yet, so we kind of need you,” he explains, “Uh, no pun intended.”

“Min?” you pull your eyebrows together at the mention of the younger’s name, “Is Armin with you?”

“Uh, yeah.”

With a frown and a heavy sigh, you push yourself out of bed, wedging your phone between your shoulder and your ear as you grab the nearest pair of sweatpants.

“Why did you get him caught up in whatever stupid shit you were doing tonight?” you complain, scanning your dark bedroom for a shirt to wear, “Erwin’s going to castrate you when he finds out.”

You curse as you stub your toe against the edge of your bed on your way out of the room. Given the time, weather, and the fact that you have several exams to start studying for, hanging up and leaving Eren in the middle of god knows where Brooklyn doesn’t seem like such a bad idea, but you couldn’t go back to sleep knowing that Armin would have to suffer with him.

“Relax,” Eren breathes in a tone all too nonchalant for the situation at hand, “He didn’t get charged with anything, and nothing’s going on his record.”

“You don’t know that,” you retort, sliding your raincoat over your free arm, as you paddle down the stairs of your apartment, “The NYPD suck.”

“True,” he hums, “But I paid off the cop, so it’ll be fine.”

You pause in your steps, but really, you shouldn’t be surprised. “Of course you did,” you mumble, moving again and grabbing your car keys off of the kitchen island.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he questions. His tone is actually genuine and it tempts you to roll your eyes.

“What it always means, Eren,” you sigh, stepping into the elevator, “I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”

“Thank you, baby. I love you.”

“Eren?”

“Yeah?”

“Get off my line.”

He doesn’t have time to throw in another pitiful “I love you” before the line goes dead and he’s met with static silence. He hangs up the station telephone with a silent chuckle, turning around to face Armin and Officer Hannes.

“Someone’s coming to pick us up,” he says, trying to focus on Armin’s sigh of relief and not the warmth creeping up his neck and into his cheeks, “I’ll, uh, call a tow for the car in the morning.”

The cop, too tired to care, only shrugs, and pays them no further attention. He hands Eren a plastic bag with his car keys and newly suspended license, escorts him back into the cell, and returns to his desk. Eren gives Hannes the finger while his back is turned.

Beside him, Armin is still quivering; bouncing his leg up and down, fiddling with his fingers, gnawing on his bottom lip. Eren frowns, a heavy wave of guilt washing over him as he takes in the younger’s anxiety ridden state. It wasn’t fair that Armin could have potentially suffered legal consequences because of his stupidity.

Eren’s lucky that Hannes was sleazy enough to accept his bribe and let him off with minimal punishment. With that they were doing, things could have ended up far worse for the both of them tonight.

“I’m sorry, man,” he apologizes, hands stuffed in his front pockets, “About tonight, I mean. We—I shouldn’t have done that, not with you there.”

Armin looks up at him with sparkling, doe eyes and Eren wants to punch himself in the gut for making him go through all of this, even if it didn’t amount to an actual arrest. “You couldn’t have known this was going to happen.”

“I could have prevented it,” he says. Because it’s what you would have said, too.

“It’s not your fault, I wanted to come, remember?” Armin tells him, redirecting his gaze to the grey floor of the precinct cell. He takes a deep breath, almost calming down completely when a sudden thought reignites his nervous ticks, “You… they’re not gonna tell my parents, right?”

“No, no—of course not.”

Armin was legally an adult; he, nor Eren, nor the police had to tell his parents anything. Sure, Hannes could rat them out, but honestly that sounded like way more work than he was cut out for; not to mention he’d be bound to reveal that he let them off easy for a couple thousand bucks.

Armin nods, “And… that wasn’t Erwin on the phone, right?”

“Are you kidding me? He’d murder me on the spot,” Eren says. He pauses before tacking on, “I, uh… I called (_____).”

“Oh,” the younger gapes, “She’ll kill you, too.”

“Yeah,” Eren sighs, scratching the back of his neck in nervous anticipation, “Trust me, I know.”

“You have your access card on you, right, Armin?” you ask. He nods sheepishly, hand on the car door handle.

“Thanks again for coming to get us,” he says meekly, “I’m sorry about waking you up and everything.”

You offer him a warm smile through the rear view mirror, “Don’t worry about it, I’m just glad you’re safe. Text me when you get up tomorrow, okay? We can get brunch, my treat.”

His face lights up at the prospect of free food, and he nods once more, enthusiastically, but his expression falls again when he speaks, “Okay, and I’ll, um, pay you back for the tickets and stuff as soon as I can—”

“It’s fine, really, don’t worry about it,” you repeat.

“It was almost three thou—”

“You forget who you’re friends with,” you cut him off with a smile, “Don’t worry about it, okay? It wasn’t your fault.”

Armin’s eyes dart to Eren quickly, before clearing his throat, a light pink tint to his cheeks. You know that the prospect of money can be a sensitive subject for Armin, one easily triggered by his very environment, but this wasn’t negotiable on your end. You know that Armin doesn’t like the feeling of owing anyone anything, but he knows he won’t get you to budge; so, he quietly nods, appreciative of your generosity, before bidding you and Eren a final goodnight and sprinting towards the dorm. Once you see that he’s safely inside, you wave one last time, and wait for the door to shut behind him.

Slowly, Eren turns to the driver’s seat to look at you. You were eerily calm when you came to pick him and Armin up from the station. You didn’t yell, cuss, or punch him in the face like he expected. You politely talked to the officer, thanked him for his service, paid their fees, and up until now, you’ve shown no signs of being angry with him at all.

The two of you drive back to your shared apartment in complete silence, Eren too confused, and borderline scared, of initiating a conversation. He wonders if you’re too tired, or if you really don’t give a damn anymore, but when you pull into the underground lot of your building and put the car in park, he finds out the silence was simply the calm before the storm.

You take your hand off of the gear shift and turn towards him. It’s a quiet stare down for nearly a full minute before you break the mime act with a slap to his thigh.

“Drag racing? Are you out of your fucking mind? Of all the stupid shit you’ve done—and you’ve done a lot of stupid shit—this has got to take the cake. Just what the actual fuck were you thinking?”

“Ouch!” he inhales sharply, rubbing over where you’d hit him, “We were just having fun! Then these other guys showed up and started talking shit so—”

“Having fun?” you echo, “You couldn’t think of anything fun to do that’s not illegal in every borough of New York City?”

Eren feels his cheek flush, but he only huffs with the illusion of disinterest, “I don’t know why you’re freaking out so bad. I’m a good driver, it was those other squids that got us into shit, I’m telling you. They showed up looking for a fight, then ran like a bunch of pussies when the cops came.”

You exhale slowly, shaking your head in disbelief. You seem to have no other words to say to him, choosing to step out of the car and slam the door behind you. Eren quickly follows, slamming his door equally as hard, and hot on your trail as you march towards the elevator.

“(_____), come on, enough with the silent treatment,” he whines when you stick yourself in a corner of the elevator after pushing the button to the penthouse, “I told you I didn’t start shit, Armin and I got ratted on.”

“I couldn’t give a rat’s ass about whether or not they started it, Eren. You’re still the problem here.”

“Me? How am I the problem?” he pulls back, eyebrows drawn together in genuine confusion, “I just told you I didn’t do shit.”

You scoff, crossing your arms and shifting your left leg, “I’m not doing this with you right now.”

“Doing what with me?” he presses, tone growing icy.

“This, Eren!” you reiterate, “I’m too tired to hear your bullshit right now.”

The elevator dings and opens into your apartment. You push past him, continuing your deliberate strides through the living area, and to the stairs, but Eren catches you with a hand on your wrist before you can go any further.

“Will you fucking stop that,” he growls, “If you’ve got something to say, then stop running away from me, and just say it.”

“Funny,” you sneer, pulling your wrist away from him and settling both your feet on the bottom step, “You’re one to talk about running away from things.”

He takes a step back, standing just a notch below you, perfectly frozen in place. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means your little drag racing episode was not only dangerous and immature, it was you running away from your problems like a spoiled child, yet again.”

Eren’s features narrow at your accusations; eyes fading into hooded slits, lips curving downwards, and voice bobbing low, “I’m not running away from anything.”

“Oh, please, Eren,” you roll your eyes, arms retreating to their crossed position in front of your chest, “Cut the bullshit.”

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.” But he bets that even in the dim lighting of the apartment, you can see the tips of his ears growing red, just like they always do when he’s lying.

“Oh, really?” you ask, eyes widening in mock surprise, “You don’t think I don’t know this whole thing has something to do with the fact that your mom came home on Friday?”

Another pause. “Who told you that?” He asks, but it comes out more like a statement.

“Nobody had to,” you snap, “Jean said he caught you with a sack of coke over the weekend, and I knew something was up.”

“It wasn’t mine, I was—”

“I said cut the shit, Eren. If I went up into your room right now I bet your ass I’d find more than enough of it in a shoebox somewhere.”

He retreats, almost bashful, but unapologetic all the same. “Fine, whatever, I did a few lines. Big deal.”

“The big deal is that you think this is fucking normal, and now you’ve upgraded from coke to getting yourself arrested! It’d be one thing if you were acting like a misfit on your own, but to drag Armin into it because you—”

“Drag him into it?” he echoes with the snare of sarcasm dripping from each syllable, “You talk about Armin like he’s six. I don’t know why you think he’s some helpless little baby, but you have no goddamn responsibility over him. He’s not your fucking charity case.”

“I never fucking said he’s my charity case—don’t you ever fucking say that,” you say, “Having some basic respect and concern for my friends isn’t charity.”

“Wake the fuck up! You baby Armin when he’s a grown ass man. I didn’t force him into the fucking car to get sympathy points from you.”

“Grown? Armin is barely nineteen, disowned by his parents, is on a full fucking ride to an insanely expensive university, and you got him arrested tonight! Do you know what could happen if NYU found out? They could fucking kick him out, take his scholarship away—and then what, huh? Or were you just gonna buy off the headmaster, too?”

“You’re acting like I fucking planned for it!”

He’s screaming now, voice bellowing throughout the apartment, face red—and he doesn’t mean to, he doesn’t mean it at all; but it’s late, and he’s tired, and those shouldn’t be excuses, but he’s too prideful to back down.

“Of course you didn’t! You didn’t plan for anything, you were just being a reckless, irresponsible asshole like always,” you tell him, too blind-sighted by anger and the need to chide him that you miss the teary undertones in his words.

“And what’s it matter to you?”

“It fucking matters to me when you call at some godforsaken hour asking me to pick you up from prison!”

He takes a step forward, right leg elevated by the same step that both your feet rest on. “Well, what else am I supposed to fucking do!” He shouts even though he’s mere inches from your face, “Tell me just what the fuck I’m supposed to do instead!”

“You’re supposed to act like an adult and fucking talk to someone!”

“Who the hell am I supposed to talk to, huh?” he presses, taking a step forward and forcing you to retreat backwards, and up a step, “My mother who’s never home or her bastard boyfriend?”—another step forward for him, another step backwards for you—“The step-brother I can’t get in contact with?”—one step forward; one step backwards—“Or maybe the dad I never had, right?”

“Me, Eren!” you yell back with equal vigor, throwing your hands up at your sides, and planting your feet firmly. “Armin, Mikasa, Jean—anyone! You have people who fucking care about you! Stop treating us like correction officers, we’re your fucking friends!”

There’s silence for a while, just you and Eren staring at each other, heavy breathing, waiting for the other to make the next move. He opens his mouth, but when he tries to speak, his resolve washes away, his throat tightens and the words get sucked back in.

It would be easy to keep yelling, screaming, blaming you for blowing up on him. He used to think the scolding he got from you after pulling some stupid stunt was the worst part; but now, he thinks it might be his favorite part. He hates to hear you scream, and it hurts to see you cry, but if you’re yelling, you’re angry that he hurt himself; you care that he’s okay.

“I—” he stutters, words quiet and broken, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for it to get like this tonight, it was an accident I—”

“You never mean for any of it to happen, yet it always does,” you interrupt, voice soft yet strained, “I know you have your own shit to deal with, but so does everybody else.”

“(_____), please, you’re right, okay? I should have said something before,” he admits, mouth small as he voices his confessions, “I should have talked to you or one of the boys, but I—I don’t know what else you want me to say.”

He’s groveling now. Mouth in pout, eyes wide, voice small, and honestly, he thinks he might cry. At this point he doesn’t care if he does.

“I want you to mean it,” you finally say, and when he looks up, he hates the look he sees in your eyes. It’s something between sad and hurt and empty and it’s awful. Someone like you shouldn’t feel that way. He shouldn’t make you feel that way.

“I—”

“When you’re ready to tell me exactly what’s going on with you—what’s happening that made you think going to jail would be better than facing your issues—I’ll be here to talk,” you continue, eyes watering, “But until then, goodnight, Eren.”

Eren winces when you turn around and ascend up the remaining stairs. He flirts with the idea of following you, going to your room to finish talking, but you’re probably angry enough to have it locked. His room is up there, too, but he opts for part of the sectional, laying down with the palms of his hands kneading against his closed eyelids.

For as long as he can remember, you’ve been there for him. Your friendship, at times, was like a game of tag—Eren always on the run with you loyally chasing after him; he’d always run amuck, and you’d always be there to catch him in the act. Now, it’s five in the morning, there’s no more yelling, no more chasing, no more racing, but he’s still running.

The following morning, you take Armin out to brunch, as promised. Jean tags along too, something about hanging out with the two of you being infinitely more entertaining than his genetics lecture. It doesn’t seem like Jean knows anything about Armin and Eren’s late night antics, so you don’t bring it up yourself.

Oblivious, Jean chats your ears off as if nothing is awry. Whether he knows it or not, he does a great job of distracting Armin from his own thoughts. They both eat to their heart’s content when you remind them you’ll foot the bill; and you don’t bat an eye when Jean convinces Armin to order his third round of pancakes. He deserves it.

Afterwards, Jean convinces the three of you to go window shopping with him in SoHo, claiming that he needed inspiration for his latest fashion assignment (you don’t question why he’s taking a fashion class as a biology major, but you suspect it has something to do with Mikasa). Window shopping soon turns into actual shopping, so almost completely unprompted, and with little effort on his part, Armin gets a few pieces of clothing on your behalf, while you try to ignore Eren’s words itching at the back of your mind.

Armin’s not a baby, but he certainly is a kid with a rough past and rough relationship with his parents at a time in his life where he arguably needs them the most. A little extra support from his friends wouldn’t harm him.

It’s nearing six when the three of you are wedged in a small booth inside a café, indulging in overpriced hot chocolate. Three sips into his second cup, Jean excuses himself to the bathroom, leaving you sitting across from Armin.

“You know, you don’t have to keep buying me stuff to make up for Eren,” Armin says, a small smile playing on his lips.

“I’m not trying to make up for him,” you sputter, careful not to spill your drink over your lap, “You had a rough night. Just accept my gifts, don’t be a brat.”

“I do accept them. Erwin’s been eyeing that Off White sweater for, like, three weeks now. He’s gonna have a hissy fit when he sees me wearing it.” You chuckle, and he continues, “But you know, as much I love spending time with you, you can’t use me to avoid Eren forever.”

“I’m not avoiding him,” you frown.

“You said you were going to take us to brunch, and then spent the whole day with us.”

“Funny, I recall you saying something about how much you love my company about thirty seconds ago.”

“He’s called you at least ten times today.”

“I was spending the day with my favorite NYU student… and Jean,” you bat your lashes, “I see you maybe once a week. I live with Eren, I have to see him every day.”

Armin calls your name with a pout, “He’s sorry, you know.”

“Not sorry enough,” you mumble. Armin opens his mouth to say something again, but then Jean’s sliding back into the booth, chatting about how he’s finally come up with the perfect anniversary date for Mikasa.

Armin doesn’t notice your sigh of relief, but he does take note of the way you wipe away your notifications when a text rings through. If Eren could spend his days running away from his problems, then you could, too.

Despite being arguably the greediest of you all, Jean loves company, so he doesn’t hesitate to say yes when you ask to crash at his place after your shopping escapades. You expect to be welcomed with sounds of screaming, laughter, and loud music, but to your surprise his apartment is completely silent upon your entering.

“Bertholdt has class and Marco has a meeting,” he prompts, as if he could read your thoughts. He shimmies his coat off his shoulders and tosses it over the bar in the foyer.

Their apartment has the same amount of rooms as yours and Eren’s, but is all stretched along a single floor. It’s more of a maze, really, with intricate turns, and hallways, that all more or less open up into the expanse of the foyer and bar. Their living room is your favorite part. A dark, brown leather sectional wraps around the back three walls and an oversized flatscreen encased in an ebony frame takes center stage. A collection of vinyl records litters the walls above the couch; each of the boys contributing their favorite discs as décor.

“If he has class, shouldn’t you have class?” you question, fingers dragging over the ridges of the closest record.

“I’ve had class all day, but that doesn’t mean I go,” Jean shrugs, walking up behind you and taking your jacket off your shoulders and your bag from your hand, “Besides, Bertholdt will probably cut half-way to go see Reiner, if he can even stay awake that long. Going with him is just as productive as staying home.”

“You’re all a mess,” you scoff, turning around as a cheesy grin grows on Jean’s lips. His smile is infectious, and soon you catch yourself grinning just because.

“You want something to drink?” he offers, throwing your coat over his elbow and tilting his head in the direction of the bar.

“You’re bad at mixing drinks,” you remind him, but follow him anyway.  

Jean laughs, not bothering to deny the jab. He doesn’t try his hand at anything mixed or complicated this time; simply offering you a glass of your favorite red, and pouring himself a smaller amount.

He puts the album you were gawking at earlier on the record player, the two of you sinking into the couch as lovely melodies radiate throughout the apartment.

He spends the first hour bitching about how Marco’s supposed to become a CEO in less than a year, yet has the attention span of a squirrel; but the playful lilt in the brunette’s voice, and the begrudging smile on his face lets you know that it’s all love. He gushes about Mikasa for a good half hour, cramming you with stories about his girlfriend’s talent for sewing and fashion. You also learn that Bertholdt’s been busier than usual these days, and Jean suspects it has something to do with a secret lover.

You pinch your eyebrows at his hunch. Bertholdt’s never been one for dating. He’s had many friends with benefits in the past, but they weren’t relationships, nor were they secrets. In fact, you don’t think that he could keep a secret to save his life.

“Why would he be hiding it if he were seeing someone?” you question, swirling your newly refilled glass.

“Dunno,” Jean shrugs, “But it’s sus, I’m telling you. He’s been oddly busy for someone with a 2.3 GPA. Either way, I’ll pry it out of him eventually.”

“You’re so fucking nosey,” you chuckle, watching the mischievous, satisfied grin settle onto his features.

“I kinda think it’s Armin,” Jean says after a while, downing the remaining wine in his cup, while you choke on your own drink.

“Why on Earth do you think if Bertholdt had a secret lover that it’d be Armin?”

“Because he was in love with him for, like, two years in high school,” Jean says, as if the information should be painfully obvious.

“Yeah, and Bert also hooked up with a million different people in high school.”

“That doesn’t mean he wasn’t still in love with Armin.”

“I don’t think Armin’s kissed another human, let alone is in a secret relationship with one.”

“Hm, true. I forget he’s still a virgin.”

“Hey—there’s nothing wrong with Armin being a virgin, leave him be.”

“I know there’s nothing wrong with it,” Jean whines, “But it’s so—he doesn’t have to be. Armin’s cute! And very attractive—dare I even say sexy. He could go outside and get laid right now if he just tried.”

“Stay humble, Jean boy. If I remember correctly, you only started breaking hearts a year ago,” you tut. Jean’s nose goes pink as he shoves you away when you continue, “But, if you’re so concerned with Armin’s virginity, why don’t you go help him out with it.”

“Actually, if I remember correctly, I think that’s more your gig,” he shoots back, a smug smile tugging on his lips. “Not to mention, I’m not trying to get beat up by Annie. Though, I wonder how much longer it’ll take before she finally snaps. Hey, maybe the both of you can tag team him, I’m sure Annie wouldn’t mind, and it might even make Armin less nervous to have you—”

It’s your turn to shove him now, throwing in an extra punch when his head bobs back with laughter. You’re very certain Annie would mind; you would mind if someone inserted themself in your kind of, sort of, not really relationship, and ruined your four years of pining.

“Speaking of lovers,” Jean prompts, once his laughter dies down, bending his knee and turning closer to you. “Why are you and lover boy fighting? Trouble in paradise?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you hum, sipping your drink in between words. Jean’s eyes pinch together. “Marco and I would never fight.”

“My god, will you let your Marco fantasies go already? You’ve already caused him one sexuality crisis,” Jean groans, “You know I mean Eren.”

You sigh, lowering your glass and reaching forward to pinch his cheek. “It’s nothing you have to worry your pretty little head over.”

“Please,” he scoffs, flicking your offending hand back, “He’s been texting us nonstop since this morning at, like, nine. I didn’t even know he was capable of waking up before noon.”

It’s your turn to roll your eyes, but Jean continues, “Why he would ask us for advice on you is beyond me. He knows you better than all of us combined.”

“And why you’re saying all of this is beyond me.”

“Oh, come on, what’d he do,” Jean pushes, borderline whines, as he puts his empty glass down in a cup holder embedded in the couch. He’s always been the most prone to gossip, but you forget that wine makes him even more of a nosey prick. “Must have been pretty bad. Or stupid.”

“Try both,” you mumble, “Well—I don’t know, it wasn’t… the worst thing anyone could do, but it was really fucking reckless—and why he did it, I couldn’t even tell you. I don’t know what goes through his mind half the time, but I swear he must have been on crack last night.”

“He probably was. On crack, I mean. I told you, I took an ounce from him over the weekend, but that was after Eren and Ymir did, like, five lines.”

“Do they really do that regularly?” you nearly cry, a hand massaging your temple, “Fucking Christ, if he really was high while driving, I’ll kill him myself.”

“Well, I don’t know if regular is the right word,” Jean ponders, “Maybe for Ymir, but god knows what she’s on half the time, anyways. Besides, coke isn’t the worst thing they could do.”

“You sound like you speak from personal experience.”

“Maybe,” he shrugs, pausing when you shoot him a disapproving look, “Oh, come on! You’re no angel, either—if memory serves, you were high as shit at Moblit’s birthday party, and kept singing the star spangled banner all night.”

“Yeah, on weed! One time! It was on a rooftop and the stars were out and it has the same rhythm as the happy birthday song, cut me some slack!”

He finds laughing at your expense to be much more fun, however, as he continues to chuckle while you throw a fit. He’s also not one to let a topic of gossip go undiscussed, and has no problem bringing the conversation back to Eren.

“It’s because you two don’t talk, you know,” Jean tuts, “That’s why you fight like this.”

For the second time, the younger’s words have your eyebrows growing close together. “I mean, I guess—but it’s more than that. Eren and I live together, we obviously talk, but—”

“I know, I know, but just hear me out, okay? You and Eren talk about a lot of things, yeah, but you also… don’t. And sometimes you don’t have to, because you guys, like… get each other.”

“Wow. What a way with words you have, Jean Kirstein. You should write a self-help book.”

“What I mean,” he sneers, unhappy with the sarcasm being thrown his way, “Is that you guys understand each other in weird ways. It’s actually kind of cute—sometimes a little freaky, in all honesty. It’s why you don’t always have to talk about serious things. But you take it for granted and let shit bottle up, and then get in denial about it until you blow up in each other’s faces.”

“Please, you barely passed one philosophy class and now you think you’re Plato.”

“You’re doing the in denial thing right now!” he taunts, “Come one, when you two fight like this, what’s it usually about?”

You sigh, sinking back into the plush leather of the couch, and wrapping your hands around a fluffy throw pillow. Thinking about arguing with Eren isn’t particularly something you like to do, and truthfully, you don’t really get pissed at each other that often. Not to the point of ignoring each other, at least.

“I don’t know,” you drawl, “Drugs, me forgetting things, him doing stupid shit, him thinking Mikasa could do better than you, school, drinking, the fact that he leaves his big ass shoes at the top of the stairs for me to trip over and fall to my death every morning, when—”

“His parents?” Jean cuts you off.

“I—we don’t really… it’s not so much fighting over his parents, it’s all the stuff he does to deal with his parents. He never gives his mom’s boyfriends a chance, and he never really talks about why, either. I know he’s secretly just angry and insecure about his dad, but… I don’t know. That doesn’t really make it better.”

“True,” he nods, “See—he doesn’t talk about it.”

“I know, and I told him that last night, too, but… it’s a sensitive subject for him—his dad, I mean,” you sigh, “And you’re right, he shouldn’t bottle his feelings up, but, on the other hand he’s watched his mom get married five times. I don’t always blame him for not wanting to talk about it.”

“Yeah, but just because it’s hard to talk about doesn’t mean he shouldn’t,” Jean lolls, “Wouldn’t you have rather he said something than have done whatever stupid shit he did to make you want to sleep here tonight?”

“Okay, Socrates, I get it,” you lighten up, “I’ll talk to him—or get him to talk to me. Are you happy?”

“Quite,” he says, annoyingly chipper as he rises from the couch. “I hate seeing my favorite power couple fighting.”

Jean knows his words would elicit a slap to his arm, so he takes off just before you can reach him, prompting you to chase him out of the living room and down the hall. The brunette cackles ridiculously loudly as you scream his name with profanities sprinkled in-between. You catch a hold of the bottom of his shirt and pull him back, finally flicking him on the forehead.

He accepts his punishment with pride, offering you a signature smile in return while you both catch your breaths. It’s a sweet moment, the two of you looking at each other with stupid smiles on your face, exhalations tickling your cheeks.

Jean’s eyes break the gaze first, as he looks down the remainder of your face, and back up to your eyes again. His words could get caught in his throat, but he doesn’t let them—he shakes his head, and swiftly turns around, beckoning for you to follow him.

“Come on, we can steal Marco’s clothes for your pajamas this time.”

Jean spends all of three minutes pulling apart Marco’s dresser before swiping a t-shirt and Christmas themed pajama bottoms from his room. He tosses them in your direction before leading you back down the hall and to the left, opening the door to the guest bedroom for you, before leaving you to change.

They have more than one guest bedroom, but this one is unofficially yours. Little pieces of you can be found littered throughout the room, from spare jewelry to mismatched makeup. You spot a single, gold, teardrop shaped earring on the vanity and sigh as you run your fingers over it.

You swear you’d lost it a few months ago. Trust Jean to put it away for safekeeping without telling you he’d found it. The boy in question returns moments later, knocking while walking through the door with your purse in hand.

“How’d you know I was about to ask you to get that?” you question, a smile on your face as you retrieve the small bag from his hands.

Jean offers you a cocky grin, “Cause I’m the best.”

“Don’t go getting a big head, now,” you tease, “Or, well, an even bigger head.”

Jean ignores your insult, as you take a seat at the edge of the bed, fishing through your bag for your phone to plug it in for the night. He’s about to turn around and bid you goodnight, when the flash of something orange peeping out of your purse prompts his next thought.

“Hey, you picked up your refill, right?” he asks innocently, “It should have been ready last Thursday.”

You sigh, head falling slightly when you close your bag and place it on the vanity. “Uh… no.”

Jean’s mouth is already open, ready with equally friendly and scolding words, but you cut him off before he can talk. “I was going to on Thursday, but I had class late, and then I forgot on Friday and I haven’t really had time since then. But I have a few left-overs from the last two months, so I’ve been taking those!”

Jean’s mouth closes, but his eyes narrow as he begins to walk towards you. You know he’s putting two and two together, so you speak ahead of him again.

“I know, I know, I shouldn’t have any left over, but it’s only five, I promise! I’ve been really good, lately.”

Jean’s eyes remain in concentrated slits, but his resolve is waning when he reads over your expression. His facade fades as he takes the final steps towards you to stand directly in front of your body.

“Okay,” he says, voice soft through his smile, “I’ll go with you to pick them up tomorrow before I drop you home, yeah?”

It elates him more than it should to see the smile you flash his way. Unfortunately, it’s short-lived, as his next question leaves your face twisted with guilt.

“Have you… told Eren yet?”

You consider lying and saying yes, but something tells you Jean won’t buy it. Your silence seems to speak loud enough, as his shoulders drop with a quiet sigh.

“I want to, I just… well I’m mad at him right now, and even when I’m not… I don’t know why it’s so hard,” you confess.

“He’d wanna know, you know,” Jean says, and it’s not the first time he’s said it to you, either. “You know he wouldn’t judge you or anything.”

“I know that. But, truthfully, if I had things my way, not even you would know, Jean.”

It was an accident that Jean found out that you’d been taking anxiety medication.

It was at somebody’s house party where the majority of your friends and their guests had gotten piss drunk. Reiner’s date had suggested mixing their alcohol with molly she’d supposedly had in her bag. In her drunken stupor, she’d mistaken your purse for her own, but luckily, a not so drunk Jean had noticed the label didn’t match her name, and snagged the bottle before the worst could happen.

They ended up not finding her molly, anyway, but it’s a moot point. Jean had cornered you about the bottle later in the week with honest intentions; he’d been concerned that might be another kind of drug disguised by a prescription veil. However, you’d assured him that it was indeed your prescribed Lexapro, and not a shady mixture of black market substances.

And, he’d been more than understanding in the aftermath. Quite frankly, he had somewhat made it his business to ensure that you got and took your medication on time and felt comfortable getting to and from your therapy appointments.

It’s endearing in a way that made you pause and count your blessings sometimes. Jean had been nothing but unequivocally supportive in his understanding about anxiety and had gone the extra mile to comfort you where need be. It made you wonder why you hesitated to tell Eren on several occasions.

It was probably the very nature of anxiety itself that had you doubting your trust in Eren. You wanted to tell him—of course you did—but, you couldn’t. You know that Eren would do everything in his power to make it better, even if that was just being. You know that he’d want to know and he’d kill to understand. But you couldn’t possibly burden him with your problems, not when he has a million of his own.

The one person in the world you wanted to tell, you were terrified of talking to. And you know it’s irrational to be afraid of him, but you can’t seem to control those thoughts. It’s a tiring, consuming, endless cycle.

Jean watches the way your gaze lowers to the floor. He knows exactly what you’re thinking, and, god, he swears if he could take that train of thought away from you, he’d do it in a heartbeat.

With a heavy heart and tired eyes, he takes a final step forward and wraps his arms around your body. He counts three, four seconds before you hug him back. He raises a hand to the back to your head, cradling your face into his shoulder and squeezing you tightly.

“Hey, I’m proud of you, you know that,” he speaks, just a notch above a whisper, “I know you’ll tell him when you’re ready.”

“I will,” you murmur into the fabric of his shirt. You hug him back a little tighter and close your eyes, “Thank you, Jean.”

And Jean holds on, and hopes you know that he wouldn’t let you go, “You’re welcome, (_____).”

You come home to find your entire apartment littered with flowers; in the hallway, on the sectional, atop the counter, up the stairs.

There are several boxes of your favorite macarons stacked in a small pyramid on the kitchen island, and you wouldn’t be surprised if you checked the labels to find that they were shipped straight from the south of France this morning. There’s too many bottles of Ace on the coffee table, sparkling next to a basket of what looks like your regular skincare products. A pretty, gold bow rests atop an even prettier pair of red-bottomed heels, and if you’re not mistaken, that’s a limited edition, vintage YSL clutch on the sectional, resting against your favorite throw pillow.

You sigh, making your way to the couch to pick up the orange envelope sticking out of the handbag. Just as you’re about to open it, you hear footsteps, and a voice that follows.

“You’re back,” Eren chirps from mid-way on the staircase, “I, uh, there’s catering coming from Butter coming soon. I know it’s your favorite,” he continues as he descends the stairs.

He has his hand on the back of his neck and there’s a faint, pink tint to his cheeks as he slowly makes his way towards you. You cross your arms, looking him up and down when he stands in front of you.

He’s wearing dark jeans and a tweed sweater with patches at the elbow. His hair is split down the middle, longer than usual, so the ends of sweep over his eyelashes; and there are telltale signs that he’d been toying with it.

“Eren, what is all of this?” you finally ask, shifting your weight to your right leg.

“Part one of my apology and explanation,” he replies, a hopeful timbre to his voice. You roll your eyes, but he continues anyway, “Actually, part two is in that envelope.”

Skeptical, you unfold your arms and open the envelope. You don’t know what you were expecting—a card, maybe tickets to a musical or something; but what you definitely weren’t expecting were two tickets to Paris.

“France?” you look up, tickets in hand, “You don’t get it do you? You can’t just buy all of this shit, jet us off to Europe and expect everything to be okay.”

“No, no it’s not like that—I swear!” he interjects, hands moving sporadically, “It’s just, well… Can we sit? Then I can explain everything.”

Eren looks at you with those big green eyes and that sad pout to his lips, and you find yourself sighing and taking a seat on the couch against your better judgement. There’s a small smile to his lips when you do—a little victory—and he sits next to you, your knees resting against each other as you face him.

He’s shaking, and your resolve to punish him with whatever solid exterior and half-assed silent treatment dissolves as you take his left hand in your right, and recall your conversation with Jean. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s me, Eren. You can talk to me.”

When he feels your smaller hand envelop his, the shaking stops, and for a moment, it feels like he can do this, like everything is okay. He smiles, and takes a deep breath.

“The other night, you were right, about my mom and her boyfriend coming home,” he starts, words slow and heavy, “I didn’t even know she was coming—I knew she was visiting this month, but she didn’t tell me when, and I thought it was going to be just her, you know? But then she showed up with him, and, well, I don’t know. I was upset. She’s been home for a week now, and we haven’t even gone to dinner or anything.”

He pauses, and you squeeze his hand for reassurance, “We were supposed to get lunch on Thursday, but she cancelled. Had some meeting or something, I don’t know, I don’t care. Friday comes and she says she wants to have dinner, right?”

You nod, he continues. “I thought it was just going to be us, but he was there. That’s when she told me that… that they’re…” he squeezes his eyes shut, “They’re engaged.”

Your mouth falls into a small o-shape. Everything made perfect sense now.

It’s not that Eren didn’t love his mother, quite the opposite actually. He’s a mama’s boy through and through; she’s his role model, his everything, he adores her. Her career as a designer often takes her on long business trips, most frequently as prolonged stays in Paris, so much so that she relocated her primary office there shortly after Eren graduated high school.

Now, she only visits home for one or two weeks at a time, sometimes only for the weekend. Upon her decision to permanently relocate, she planned to leave Eren under the unofficial supervision of Mikasa. Instead, Eren bought Mikasa her own three-bedroom apartment in Midtown (according to his logic, it was better for her to have her own place than to move in with Jean), and a shared two-story penthouse for the both of you that overlooks Central Park.

Eren misses her more than he cares to admit, but he puts on the same facade every time she comes home because he hates the company she brings.

Paris is where she met her newest boyfriend, Mitchell, and Eren swears he hates that man with every fiber of his being. It’s not saying much, though, not when Eren’s hated every single one of his mother’s past romantic partners, right down to his own father.

“Is… is that why you—”

“Rented a brand new Corvette and went drag racing at one in the morning?” he chuckles, “Yeah. It was stupid, I know, but I was just angry, I guess. I dunno what I was feeling, but it wasn’t good.”

You nod, wrapping both of your hands around his now and offering him a warm smile. He smiles back, just for a moment. “That’s what the tickets are for, actually. The wedding.”

“They’re getting married in France?” you question, to which he nods, “On the first? Isn’t that a little short notice to plan a wedding?”

“I think you’re underestimating the power of Carla Jaeger,” he chuckles, “Apparently, it’s been in the works for a few months now. He proposed with fireworks or some shit. Said she wanted to tell me in person, though.”

“This ticket is for next week,” you say, rereading the dates on the papers. “The wedding is three weeks from now.”

“Well, I kind of figured we could take a little vacation before then,” he grins, “I texted most of the boys earlier, and they can probably come to the wedding, but I want to spend some time with you before it gets hectic, you know? Consider it an end of the semester present.”

Your eyes flicker down to your hand, still wrapped around Eren’s, when he starts to trace circles into your skin, “I thought I just told you, you can’t jet us off to Europe to fix things.”

“You did,” he hums, “And I know I can’t—I’m not trying to, I just… Truthfully, I reserved the plane and the hotel a few weeks back and it really was just going to be a surprise for us—well, more like a gift for you because I know you’ve been busting your ass in chem—but then… everything else happened, and I think a break sounds perfect before I watch my mom get married for the sixth time.”

You watch him continue to toy with your hands for a while, processing your conversation. It was typical of Eren to surprise you like this, so you can’t figure out why this particular present leaves you feeling warmer than usual.

“You sure you don’t need a break from me?”

Eren beams and takes the opportunity to lace your fingers together. “Nah, you’re annoying, but not Jean level annoying.”

You scoff, “I’m telling him you said that.”

“It’ll sound better coming from you, anyway,” he shrugs, “Besides, I might just murder Mitchell if you’re not there with me.”

You chuckle, on the verge of accepting his proposal, but the mention of Jean prompts another thought to cross through your mind. “I’d love to, but I… I don’t know. I don’t want Armin to spend the first few weeks of winter break here all alone.”

This Christmas would mark one year since Armin had seen, or even talked to, any of his immediate family members, with the exception of Erwin.

Last year, you all tried to salvage the damage by sticking around so, at the very least, he didn’t have to feel alone. You and your friends decided that Armin ought to be celebrated, not ostracized for any aspect of himself, so you all chipped in for a cute, impromptu trip to the Catskills so that everyone could be together and close to home.

This year, however, there seemed to be quite a few conflicts of interest. Even if Armin was one of the boys who was planning on attending the wedding, you doubt he had plans leading up to it. You know that Marco, Bertholdt, Mikasa, and Jean had invited him to go to Aspen with them, but Armin declined the offer. Similarly, Connie, Sasha, Annie, Reiner, and Ymir would be off to Dubai as soon as classes ended; an invitation Armin had also turned down.

You weren’t sure what Erwin’s plans were, though you’re certain they involved his own friends in some way or another. At the very least, it was unlikely that he would leave his younger brother completely stranded over the break; but you didn’t want to make plans without knowing Armin wouldn’t be alone.

“He won’t, actually he’ll be closer than you think,” Eren reassures you, “Hange and Moblit wanted to go skiing anyways, so Erwin is taking all of them to the Alps instead of Aspen. Armin doesn’t know yet, but he’s going with them.”

“Shouldn’t Erwin spend his break campaigning, and not skiing? Last I checked, he wasn’t too popular in Queens”

“Ah, you know Erwin,” Eren shrugs, “He has a way of making people devote themselves to him. He’ll win the election with or without campaigning, trust me—the point is, that little baby Armin will be safe and sound under Erwin’s protection, and you don’t have to worry about him.”

“How come you get to call him a baby?”

“Because I’m a hypocritical asshole who doesn’t deserve you, but is hoping you’ll come with me anyway.”

Eren smirks, but there’s a genuine undertone to his words as he moves his fingers to toy with the ring around your pointer finger. The same one he gave to you two Christmases ago. Well, kind of.

The ring he originally gifted you was a Harry Winston piece, with an encrusted band that wrapped into two sunflowers, both made of classic, white diamonds with emeralds sparkling in the center. After seeing the design, and the price tag, you demanded that he take it back, or at the very least, get it sized to fit on your index finger or thumb so that people didn’t get the wrong idea.

Instead, he came back with a simple, silver chain for the original ring to hang from, and the current ring on your finger; a rose gold band with tiny diamonds studded around it. Likely equally as expensive, but more appropriate according to you.

“Fine. But you have to be on your best behavior,” you agree, paying no mind to Eren’s thumb twirling your jewelry, “Do you promise me no drag racing or antics of any sort while we’re there?”

Eren shakes his head at the memory, eyeing the first ring that sits against your chest.

He smiles. “I do.”

The afternoon after your last exam, you bid the remainder of your friends goodbye, grab your bags, and hop on a plane with Eren. It arrives in Paris, but you’re rerouted off to Nice before you can so much as blink at the Eiffel tower; you’d be staying there for the two and half weeks leading up to the wedding, in a small villa.

You had to hand it to him, Eren really outdid himself. It’s dark and nearing three in the morning when you arrive, but even in your sleepy stupor you can admire your accommodations. The villa is secluded, the perfect distance from the water, and decorated lavishly almost to your exact liking. You wouldn’t be surprised if Eren sprung it on you that he’d bought the place, and wasn’t merely renting it for this vacation.

Every day after that, Eren proves he was honest in his intentions of this being a getaway gift to you. He’s planned every activity under the sun—from hot air balloon rides, to helicopter tours, to jet-skiing. The days are certainly fun and filled with beautiful memories, but there’s something special about Nice at sunset; something about the sound of gentle waves brushing up against the beach, and the spotlights carved from sun-cast shadows on the buildings.

It’s just after dinner time, bordering on your eighth night here, when you and Eren are walking along the cobblestone streets that border the beach, the length of your sundress flowing every which way with the breeze, and the tail of Eren’s blazer flailing like a cape behind him.

He looks nice tonight, but, truthfully, he always does. He claimed he hadn’t put on the casual green suit because of your outfit, but you swear he was wearing khakis before he saw your dress. The tips of his ears go red when you tease him about it at dinner, but it doesn’t really matter to you; he would have looked good, regardless. Those suits are made for him, after all; tailored to fit perfectly, and designed by his own mother.

The streets tend to settle down after six, locals and tourists retreating indoors or heading to the beach to relax and draw in the evening. Tonight, however, there’s much more commotion than usual on your route.

“Maybe we should take the long way,” you suggest. On the tips of your toes, you realize that there’s some kind of special event happening in the square, filled with lights and music that grows louder with every step you take.

But the crowd and the lights and the smell of food only piques Eren’s interest. “No way—let’s check it out!”

You don’t have the time to refute before his long legs surpass your own stride, headfirst into the sea of people. You can only follow with a smile and a shake of your head. The soft green of his suit jacket serves as your guide as he navigates through the crowd, but the closer you get to the center, the more people there are.

You can feel palms of your hands growing uncomfortably warm as you become hyperaware of just how many people there are. You clutch the end of your dress in your hand, for both practicality and as a sort of comfort mechanism, as you try your best to calm the anxious wave threatening to crash against you.

With a deep breath, you begin to walk again, unaware of Eren’s actions until you physically walk into his hand, long fingers poking at your belly. You hadn’t realized he stopped walking, or that you’d caught up with him, and your eyebrows crinkle when you look down to see Eren’s left hand extended behind him and towards you, palm facing upwards.

He doesn’t say anything, or look back at you at all. Only wraps his larger fingers around yours when he feels the weight of your hand in his, and continues to guide you through the crowd, his pace slower, and hand firm around yours.

The mass of people becomes more spread out when you approach what appears to be the center of the event; and it looks like a party, maybe a wedding of some sort. There’s food and champagne galore, and more than enough happy guests dancing along to upbeat music in the streets.

Eren’s eyes light up as he takes in the scene, “You wanna dance?”

“What—Eren, no!” you refuse, “We cannot crash these people’s party!”

“Why not?” he counters, without a care in the world, “Seems like an open invitation to me! Come on!”

And for the second time that evening, you find yourself being pulled into his schemes; this time in the direction of the open space dubbed dance floor.

You’re both terrible and ostentatious and people start to watch, but it doesn’t matter because you’re smiling too wide and laughing too hard to care. Eren has a way of moving both with and against the music, forcing your body to follow his lead.

He shouts something over the noise, but you don’t have time to register his words before he laces your right hand with his left, and places his right hand on your waist. There’s a blink of confusion for a moment before you’re being swept off your feet and into a dramatic dip. You don’t have time to secure yourself against his shoulders, but Eren does a fine job of supporting you with a single arm against your back.

From what you can tell the song is far from over and the dramatic pose is completely unwarranted, but you and the crowd alike are victim to his charm. You indulge yourself, looking up at him with eyes too fond to memorize every feature of his face in this moment; the way he’s laughing with that big, dumb, wide smile of his that makes his nose crinkle and his eyes light up.

You’re too busy looking at him to hear Eren’s voice calling out to you, or even realize that he’s moved you from your pose to standing back upright. He’s equal parts amused and concerned at the glazed over look in your eyes.

“Hello? Anybody home up there?” he teases, elongating the vowels and squeezing your waist to alert you.

The reminder of his hands on your hips pulls you back to reality, your eyes fluttering down to his arms, then back to his face. It feels stuffy suddenly, too close to function.

“Yea—yeah! Do you wanna get a drink? Yeah, let’s get a drink!” you exclaim, haphazardly pointing and walking towards the food.

You don’t see it, but Eren looks on with glittering eyes, his verbal agreement heard only by himself as you veer towards the buffet. He can still feel your body in his grip, still see the specks of gold in your pupils as he lingers on the back of your silhouette lovingly. And before you can realize, he snaps himself out of it—an out of body experience similar to yours a few moments ago—before catching up with you.

You end up socializing for much longer than intended. Eren makes friends with everyone, to no surprise, and, uncharacteristically, you feel influenced by his actions, and converse with a few people yourself. You let him take the lead, though. Partially because he’s better at it, and partially because you just like listening to him speak French.

“Hey, we should probably get out of here,” he whispers into your ear after waving goodbye to a lovely couple you’d just met, “Before the host of this party realizes we’re miles better than his actual guests.”

You nod with a smile, more than happy to play by his rules for the evening. He offers you his hand again, that same, dopey smile on his face when you take it.

He leads you out of the crowd and back on to the path to your villa, the smell of warm food and sounds of vibrant music growing dull as you venture further from the celebration. It’s much darker than it was when you began your trek back from the restaurant, but beautiful all the same.

Your sandals pad against the wooden dock that leads up the villa, and Eren unlocks the door silently, ushering you inside before entering behind you.

“I know I said I wanted to leave, but I’m not really tired yet,” Eren confesses, pulling his blazer off of his shoulders.

“Me neither,” you say, placing your small wristlet on the table with a shrug, “What do you wanna do though, I’m not—”

“Great!” he cuts you off, smile too big. You narrow your own in suspicion. That tone of voice with that look on his face usually meant something mischievous, at best. “Remember when you said the first time you’d smoke would be with me, and then pranced away and took a bowl from Hange and got high as shit at Moblit’s party?”

“Why does everyone remember Moblit’s party but me!”

“Don’t worry about it,” he chuckles, waving the topic away, “Anyway… Do you wanna smoke now?”

You blink. “I… did you… smuggle weed all the way to France?”

“No, of course not!” he refutes, “…I got it here.”

You scoff, but don’t have the time to question him further before Eren’s tugging on your wrist and pulling you into the bedroom. You take to sitting on your bed while he rummages through his suitcase to retrieve a small, clear jar with several rolled joints inside and a lighter to match.

He shuffles next to you in the bed, mindlessly handing you the lighter while he unscrews the top off the jar. He takes out two of the joints, places one next to the jar on the nightstand, and tucks the other between his teeth. He asks you to hand him the lighter, and you do so wordlessly, distracted by the sight of Eren’s gaze and the blunt poking out his mouth.

“This’ll be fun, yeah?” He reassures you, “Technically, you let Hange take your weed virginity, but I’ll be better.”

“Can you not phrase it like that,” you roll your eyes, “You already took my virginity virginity, don’t be bitter.”

An all too smug grin settles on his features as he recounts the fact. “Besides,” you tack on, “I’ve never done it like this before. So, it’s still a first, kind of.”

Eren cups one hand around the joint, sparking the lighter with the other until it catches fire. He inhales, slow and deliberate, as if he were putting on a show, or a lesson, of sorts, taking the smoke into his lungs and out through his mouth.

You’d gravely miscalculated how attractive Eren would look doing this. Sure, he’s hot, you knew that, but the pronunciation of his jawline when he exhales, and the confidence with which he drags on the blunt is a stark reminder to you. He takes a few more hits, just as slow and sensual as the first, and the room begins to feel warmer.

“Come closer,” be beckons, smoke rolling off of his tongue with every syllable.

You snap yourself out of the haze of your imagination and scoot closer to him. He silently hands you the joint, and it feels heavy between your fingers. At the distance, you take in the smell—pungent and off-putting, but too familiar.

Eventually, you bring it to your lips, careful not to let your tongue press against the tip, and inhale slowly, like you’d seen Eren do before. You do your best to hold the smoke in your lungs for a bit, but seeing as the last time you did this you were amped up on adrenaline and drunk off your ass, the task proves to be much more difficult. It tickles before becoming uncomfortable and you exhale ungracefully, puffs of smoke punctuating your coughs.

Eren watches with a grin, amused at the sight of you fanning the excess smoke away with your nose scrunched in distaste. “You should have warned me you were gonna cough like a bitch.”

“Oh, fuck off,” you whine, trying to hide the hint of a smile creeping onto your face. You hand the blunt back to him, “You’re supposed to teach me, not tease me, asshole.”

Eren pauses his laughter, unsure of what to make of your tone; rushed, a bit embarrassed, but testy. It’s quiet while he stares at you, trying not to let the implication of your words run wild in his mind; but it’s futile when you’re pouting like that, the room is growing foggier, and he’s been semi-hard since you accepted his offer.

“Fine. Watch and learn,” he breathes, words coming out more jagged than he’d intended.

This time, he completely exaggerates every motion; he inhales at a tantalizing pace and flutters his eyes closed while he lets the smoke swish in his mouth, down his throat, and expand into his lungs. He cranes his neck upwards, and purses his lips to let the clouds exit in the streamline that follows the slope of his jaw.

Maybe it’s the drugs getting to you, but your mind is filled with nothing but sheer clouds that aren’t thick enough to block out thoughts of Eren. The weed is unattractive, potent in smell, and all kinds of wrong; yet, everything about him is soft, sultry, and pulls you in.

“Wanna try again, or do you need another lesson?”

You faintly mutter a profanity under your breath. His words end with giggles, a sign the drugs have already begun to take their effect on him, his expression is still smug. You forget Eren knows just how attractive he is. Motherfucker.

“Actually,” he cuts your train of thought, “I have a better idea, come ‘ere.”

Eren beckons you forward again, closing the gap between your legs so that your knees graze each other under the fabric of your clothing while you’re sat next to each other. He leans over, far too close into your personal space, as if to test something; he freezes when his nose is mere inches from your face, a dissatisfied scrunch taking over his features.

He reinstates his hold on your wrist, motioning your body backwards until your back is against the frame of the bed. He hums in approval, positioning himself next to you again, equally as close, but far more comfortable for what he has planned next.

“I’m—I’m gonna try somethin’, okay?” he stutters, the first word mistakenly coming out in broken German, “Just, don’t freak out on me. It’ll be good, promise.”

You nod, unsure of what you’ve just signed off on, but you don’t have time to ask questions. Eren takes another hit, then passes the blunt to his non-dominant hand. He turns to face you, leans forward, and places his free hand on the back of your neck to pull you closer; the expanse of his palm leaving room for his thumb to venture over the bottom half of your cheek.

Eren pulls you in until your lips are millimeters apart, and he can see the pattern of your eyes in beautiful detail. He shifts his hand now so that the majority of it covers your face, the pad of his thumb running across your bottom lip. He applies the perfect amount of pressure to pry your willing mouth open, and then, finally, exhales.

This time, you can taste it. It’s woodsy, and bitter, but the sweet undertones dance on your tongue. This time, there’s more to think about than just the smoke in your lungs; like the burn of Eren’s hand on your neck; the pressure of his thumb against your bottom lip; the proximity of his lips to yours; the look in his eyes.

“Feel good?” he doesn’t bother to pull away before asking, and the words ghost over your lips with the remaining smoke. You nod; he smiles. “Wanna try again?”

You let out a breathy note of affirmation, and then he’s inhaling and exhaling into you, and you welcome him with pried lips and a heavy thumping in your chest. The confidence with which he maneuvers his body and the drugs is nerve-wracking, yet comforting at the same time; he has an expertise and power that intimidates, but compels you to follow.

Together, you finish the first blunt, and Eren lights the second without missing a beat. His hands are more demanding this around; they guide you into submission, and he’s pleased to find that you’re willing to listen.

After the third exhale, you stop focusing on his hands, and more on his lips. After the fourth, you think you might be high—not to the stars as you infamously were during Moblit’s party—but with a comfortable, dull buzz in your head. Everything feels a little fuzzy, out of touch, but you host a burning want for something more, something tangible.

You don’t know it, but Eren feels the same.

After the fifth exhale, Eren pulls away, the blunt a simple stub as he flicks it away onto the night stand, and you miss him being too close. You miss his hands, you miss his warmth, you crave his touch.

“Eren,” you call, unable to think of or see anything but him in the haze. He answers with a strained, “Yeah?” keening towards the sound of your voice, wide eyes flitting all over your face.

It’s too much, too close, too hot. That’s when you cup his jaw, pull him forward, and meld your lips together.

Kissing Eren is painfully familiar, and unnervingly satisfying. It’s certainly not your first kiss with him; and, yet he has a way of making you feel like it is while reminding you of your history. His lips are soft, and they taste like smoke and the chapstick you swear by because he refuses to buy or test out his own.

You pull away too soon, gauging his reaction with blown-out eyes, before dipping forward to have him against you again. Then again, and again, and again, until Eren is tired of your leaving, and his hands are back on your neck.

This kiss is deeper, Eren searching to satisfy the hunger aching inside of him, and you’re happy to comply when his thumb is pressing at your lower lip again. You open your mouth for him and he doesn’t waste a moment, brushing his tongue against yours experimentally, and then flush into your mouth.

He groans when you rake your fingers into his hair, and pulls back with a hissing noise when you scratch at his nape. Large hands move to grip at your waist, and he pulls you into his lap with a concentrated gaze—a brief second for him to admire the sight of you on top of him, before he resumes kissing you. He sucks on your tongue, rolls his past your teeth, and bites on your bottom lip.

You know he relishes in the sounds he elicits from you, and under any normal circumstance, you’re willing to put up a fight with him, but not now. Now, you let him unzip the back of your dress and snake his hands beneath the fabric. The rubbing motions of his hands turn into gripping, gripping into grinding, and eventually, an unfiltered moan slips past your lips when you feel Eren’s erection roll against you.

“Fuck,” he pulls back with a suck of your swollen lip, “You’re so hot.”

Eren quickly switches your positions so that he’s hovering over you. You chuckle lightly underneath him, taking the opportunity to run both your hands through his hair and cradle his head in your hold, “Haven’t done anything yet.”

“I know,” Eren murmurs, dipping his head down to press kisses into your neck, “Still so sexy. So pretty, always.”

Eren bites a hickey into your collar bone, and everywhere he can touch; your neck, your ears, your cheeks, your lips. Your moaning serves as the spark to keep him going, but he’s barely coherent himself the way you keep pulling at his hair and grinding yourself against him. Even through his clothes, you can feel how painfully hard he is.

He barely catches your tongue between his lips when you moan again, sucking harshly before bruising his lips over yours again. His hands are grabby again, finally pulling your dress completely off of your body, leaving it to form a puddle on the ground. They’re back on your as soon as possible, massaging over your tits, and running his index finger over your nipples.

“Eren... Eren, please,” you whimper, chest heaving as you look down at him. He rolls his index finger over your right nipple, with his left hand teasing the other with his thumb. You can’t tell if the look in his eyes is a product of the weed, or just his glassy, borderline predatory stare, but it makes you shiver with pleasure when he wraps his mouth around your nipple and sucks.

“I want you.”

“Want you, too,” Eren hums, pulling back with a thin trail of spit from your breast, before moving to give your left nipple the same treatment, “More than you know.”

You keen to him when he teases his teeth against you, finally having had enough you force him off of you with a tug of his hair. “Then take off your clothes.”

Eren blinks, wide-eyed but glazed all the same. He chuckles lightly, a blush spreading over his cheeks as he nods. He sits back on his knees, pulling his shirt over his head, forgoing undoing the buttons, and pauses briefly with his hands over the zipper of his pants.

“Please tell me you’re not that gone that you forgot how to undo your zipper,” you tease him, chest still heaving from his previous ministrations. Eren smiles, doe-eyed and hazy, and shakes his head.

“No,” he reassures you, finally undoing his zipper and shimmying his pants off his legs, “Was trying to remember what underwear I was wearing. Didn't want it to be embarrassing.”

His honesty makes you laugh, and Eren pauses for a moment to soak it in. Even like this, even with him stumbling over the steps to undress himself, and you almost completely naked in front of him, he can make you smile. There’s something equally sexy and endearing about your giggles; a juxtaposition that makes him want to hug you or kiss you or something in between. And you—you like the look in his eyes even through your giggling; the way he smiles back and blushes and tells you exactly what he’s thinking.

“It’s okay,” you tell him, “Don’t think mine are particularly sexy either.”

Eren hums, shuffling back on to the bed so that he’s between your legs, and leans forward to kiss you again. He still can’t seem to keep his hands off of you, his fingers immediately flying to your underwear and peeling them off your legs, pulling you closer despite the lack of space between your bodies.

“Yeah, doesn’t matter,” Eren echos, tossing the offending item to the side, before cupping your face in his hands, “I’d still wanna fuck you in your granny panties.”

“You wanna fuck me?” you question, eyes sparkling and hopeful.

“Yeah, I do,” Eren can’t help but to smile again, happy and high and drunk on you, too, “Will you let me?”

Your feverish nodding is all it takes for Eren’s mind to go hazy again; clouded with you, you, you. You pull him into a kiss, arching your body into his, and running your hands down the sides of his back. He moans at the feeling, punishing you by nipping at your lower lip and pressing your stomach back to the mattress with his palm.

Your eyes meet his as Eren lines himself up with your cunt, teasing your folds with the head; but it doesn’t take long before he finally pushes in, sheathing himself inside you completely without movement. He waits a minute, whether it’s to make you comfortable, or to gather his own bearings, you’re not sure; but when he’s ready, he flashes you a smile and waits for one in return, before he starts thrusting.

You know Eren’s not gentle; rough whether or not he intends to be by virtue of his size in comparison to you, but you seem to have forgotten just how capable he is of making you lose your senses. He has you gasping, grasping at him at him unintelligibly, feeling full with his cock inside of you.

Eren groans, borderline growls, when he feels you clench around him, when he sees you shaking beneath him. He could do this all; could watch you all day.

“So pretty, the prettiest. Prettiest girl, my favorite girl,” Eren praises, eyes raking up and down your thrashing body, “My favorite fucking girl.”

“You—you, too.”

“Yeah? I’m your favorite, too?” Eren coos, reaching out to guide your arms over your head, the force of his body pinning your hands down; you can hardly gasp before he lacess your fingers together, and gives you a reassuring squeeze.

“Promised you, didn’t I? That I’d be good to you, be on my best behavior,” Eren reminds you, leaning forward.

He eyes your necklace—eyes glued to ring around it—bouncing with your body. He bends his head down to kiss it, bites at the skin near it; a possessive streak overcoming him as the diamonds shine against you. “I said I’d treat you good, always. Meant it.”

He stutters, when you squeeze him back; fingers tightening around his hold, your pussy clenching around his cock. Your whining is insistent, and mixes with Eren’s low moans and guttural noises. Eren doesn’t let up his pace, fucking you fast and deep, and it’s only a matter of time before you feel a knot twisting in your belly.

You attempt to move your arms, searching for a release of the feeling building up inside of you but Eren is strong; stronger than you, and he keeps you in your place. Keeps your arms pinned above you, keeps his palms pressed into yours, keeps his lips hovering above yours, just out of reach.

“Eren,” you call his name through shaky moans.

“Yeah? What, baby?”

“Kiss me.”

And so he does, his lips needy and hungry over yours. Eren fucks you and kisses you through your orgasm, tasting your moans on his tongue in timing with him cumming inside of you. You don’t let up; kissing him lewdly while you both come down from your highs.

“So good,” Eren croons against your lips, down your jaw, into your skin, “So good for me.”

You both moan in chorus when he finally pulls out, Eren’s head laying on your collar, nose nuzzling into your neck. He lets your hands free, and immediately you wrap them around his back, holding him close as you both attempt to catch your breaths.

You don’t know how long you lay there like that, with Eren on top of you, and your thumb rubbing circles into his cheek while he sleeps soundly. Maybe an hour, maybe more, maybe less; but the euphoria of your sex doesn’t quiet seem to fade.

It might last all night, maybe even for the rest of your trip but you don’t mind. You think back to earlier in the evening, when you’d caught his gaze after your dance. The feeling isn’t all that different; warm, and fuzzy, and too much and not enough all at once. It feels good, it feels like Eren.

You hum softly to yourself, careful not to wake up the sleeping boy on your chest, when you realize exactly what these two moments have in common: a rare event in which Eren is still in front of you, steady and stagnant, no running or chasing; and you don’t want to let him go.

Sometimes Eren thinks you act oblivious on purpose just to fuck with him, because there’s absolutely no way you—or any human with a functioning nervous system and social cues—can’t tell that he’s completely, stupidly, and embarrassingly in love with you.

Long gone are his days of trying to deny it or get over it. He realized that sophomore year of high school—almost eight years ago—that no matter where he went, what kind of drug he inhaled, or how hard he tried, you’d be permanently etched into his heart. That doesn’t make it any less exhausting, and, in fact, only makes it more astounding that you haven’t caught on yet. Honestly, Eren’s considered hiring a private psychiatrist just to make nothing’s wrong with you.

Amazingly, the remainder of your vacation continues just like the former half. The only exception being that now you’re in Paris. And that he’s shamelessly coerced you into letting him fuck your brains out on several occasions. But besides that, everything’s chill.

Just two best friends traveling through France together and stopping to fuck in any semi-private location they can find. Just two peas in a pod walking along the Champs Elysées at damn near midnight. Just two best buds with linked arms tasting (see: feeding each other) every macaron flavor they come across while violinists play stupidly romantic, classical music in the background.

He knows he should probably talk to you about it, but for some reason he can’t. Like telling you would make it all too real, and give it a meaning that could so easily be taken away from him; give you a reason to want to leave him. Right now, it’s just a fantasy, and he’s free to keep dreaming, believing that he’s special and worth enough for the affection you’ve shown him.

He doesn’t want to be one in a list of your boyfriends, or fiances, or husbands; he wants to be your only one, and if he can’t be, then he’d rather be stuck to your side as your best friend. At least that way, in someway, he could remain special to you; not a forgotten, ordinary ex of your past.

Though, a best friend who he’s sleeping with regularly and he’s in love with and will always be in love with is starting to sound a lot like a husband to him. At least, the kind of husband he would like to be to you.

You call his name, asking him if he wants to try another sweet. Eren rolls his eyes. What he wants is to fuck you, and marry you, and have you bless his stupid little existence with two runts for kids that look like him but act like you so his life savings don’t run out by the time they’re twelve. But sure, he’ll settle for having you feed him another macaron in the meantime.

“This one tastes just like the coconut one,” he mumbles, chewing his way through the pastry you’d stuffed into his mouth whole.

It’s the seventh bakery you’ve stopped at tonight, and even though Eren’s growing pretty sick of the sugary treats, he’ll walk with you to every damn bakery in Paris tonight if that’s what you want.

He blinks at the thought. He’s so lovesick it’s disgusting. And he wouldn’t do a damn thing to change it.

“That’s probably because it’s almond and coconut flavored,” you say, wiping the stickiness from your fingers onto a napkin.

“I didn’t taste any almonds.”

“I don’t even think you could spell almond, much less tell me what they taste like.”

Eren simply pouts in refute, leaving you giggling at his expression. He doesn’t know if it’s possible, but you seem even prettier in Paris than in Nice. But, that’s probably his rose-colored glasses speaking.

“You think there’ll be macarons at the reception?” you question, biting into yet another pistachio flavored treat, “And if not, would it be rude to bring my own?”

He chuckles. “Yes, babe, I’m sure there will be macarons there.”

He’s always loved Paris, even when his mom moved away here and left him in New York, and he’d always loved it more when you’re with him. He feared that having to attend another, what he considered to be wasteful, wedding in arguably one of his favorite places in the world would leave a bitter taste in his mouth; but, thankfully, he’s only fallen deeper in love since being here.

“You sure you won’t be sick of them by tomorrow?” he asks, watching you debate between taste testing another variation of vanilla bean or rosé.

“How could I get sick of them?” you answer offhandedly, not sparing him a glance away as you choose the pink snack. How could he get sick of you.

“By the time we get back to New York you’ll have forgotten all about them,” he scoffs.

“Don’t worry I’ll quit it soon. I’ll have to eat something solid if I wanna take my meds and go to bed,” you spew with a smile, unaware of what you’ve actually just said, “But they are delicious and I have no regrets.”

Eren pauses. Then so do you, mouth stuffed with sickly sweet.

“I mean—”

“I know, you know,” he cuts you off, “About the meds and stuff.”

You look like you could pass out, or scream, or cry, or everything in between. Eren figures saying more is better than saying less, so he continues.

“I saw a bottle in the bathroom a few months ago,” he admits shyly, but careful about his tone, “Didn’t understand half the words on the label, but it had your name on it so I just, uh… Googled it.”

Of course he knows. Eren’s always kind of known, just never had the words to express it. He imagines that’s what you’re feeling right now.

“Oh,” you finally gape, “Why didn’t you, um… you know, like, say… anything?”

“It seemed like your secret to tell,” Eren shrugs, features softening out, “Besides, I figured you’d tell me when you wanted to.”

Eren’s always been better at showing than saying, anyway. He hopes that his actions, small as they may seem, might have provided you with any sort of comfort in the past few months. Maybe even before that, too.

“Oh,” you repeat, continually blinking at him, “That’s… that’s it? You’re cool with it?”

Now it’s Eren’s turn to blink. “What do you mean am I cool with it? They’re your meds.”

“Yeah, but like… you’re not mad I didn’t tell—”

“Of course I’m not mad,” he cuts you off with a soft smile, “It’s not really my business. I mean, like, you’re my business because I care about you, but you have your own private stuff, too, which is cool. Besides, when I was, uh, researching it, I learned that it can be hard to tell people stuff like that even if—”

Eren shuts up when he feels your weight against him and your arms wrapped around him. Shell shocked, he takes a moment to hug you back, and slowly comes to rest his chin atop your head after leaving a flurry of kisses.

“You didn’t have to look it up or do any kind of research, you know,” you mumble softly into his jacket. Eren borderline chortles, but only hugs you more tightly.

“Of course I did. If not for you, then for myself, because I meant it when I said I’d never seen half the words on the prescription before in my life,” he replies, heart glowing at the sound of your small chuckles.

He’s expecting an equally witty response, but you surprise him when you pull back just enough to face him, a hazy smile on your face. “You’re amazing, Eren.”

Don’t blush, fool. Don’t blush, fool. Don’t blush—fucking idiot.

“Yeah, I’m pretty great,” he boasts, leaning back into the coolest pose he could muster up while ignoring the growing heat creeping up his neck. It’s all in vain as you reach over to playfully tug at one of his ears.

He thinks you’re pretty like this. All the time, but most notably when he has you in his arms. So pretty, that he has to lean forward to kiss you; you don’t seem to mind, if the way you smile into the kiss is any indication of your feelings. Eren finds himself mirroring your grin; moving his arms from around your waist to the sides of your face.

The workers in this poor little café probably hate the two of you, but he doesn’t fucking care. He’s got his favorite girl in his arms right now, and you taste like almonds and coconuts and like the love of his life.

And he should tell you. Eren wants to tell you, and he finds himself wondering if those same intrusive, fearful thoughts were part of the driving force behind your own reason to keep your secrets from him.

You pull away from him, hands lightly draped around his neck, and you smile like you’re shy—like he hasn’t known you your whole life. Still, Eren finds himself smiling back; and thinks that if you were brave enough to tell him how you were feeling, then he should do the same.

“(_____), I… I gotta tell you something,” he starts, voice soft as his fingers curl around your waist a little more tightly, “Though, I’m kind of hoping you already know.”

You blink at him, almost innocently. Eren bites the inside of his jaw; you’re going to have to stop doing that before he jumps you again.

Better now than never, he supposes. He tries to shake his nerves when he takes your hands in his, completely covering them with his palms, and closes his eyes. Despite that, you try to offer him comfort, squeezing his fingers as best you can; and Eren takes that moment to thank his lucky stars for whoever decided to put you in his life. Because he knows that no matter what, even if he royally fucks this up, you’ll find some way to be there for him.

He slowly blinks his eyes open again, gaze resting on the ring around your neck. A faded chuckle escapes his lips when looks at it. The only one who got the wrong idea about his gift was you. But, he supposes that’s his fault; he never did explain it, after all.

“It’s nothing… It’s just that, I’m in—”

But Eren’s startled by a voice that makes him freeze. He almost wants to believe he misheard it, but he can hear the telltale clacking of vintage heels on the floor of the bakery and he knows that he didn’t mishear a thing.

Eren turns his head, and sure enough, there is his mother, in all her five foot glory, adorned in designer clothing from her beret to her shoes. With a fucking street urchin on her arm.

“Well, well, well, what a lovely surprise,” Carla beams, red lipstick perfectly in place even after a long day of wear.

Eren’s eyebrows draw together, as he takes in his mother and her fiancé standing in front of him. He can just barely register you calling out towards her, carefully maneuvering yourself off of his lap, and into the neighboring chair; but still keeping your right hand wrapped around his left. He can feel you squeeze it—whether to give him comfort, or warning, he’s not sure yet; probably both.

“It’s so good to see you!” you beam, excitedly offering her and Mitchell a seat across from the two of you at the table. Eren opens his mouth to refute, but you squeeze his hand again; a warning.

Carla leans forward to encase you in a hug, exchanging cheek kisses, and leaving Eren to stare at the street rat across from him. Mitchell seems to know better than to make eye contact with him, irises scattering from Carla’s back to the décor of the bakery while the two girls catch up.

“We missed you at the rehearsal dinner on Sunday,” Carla recounts, eyes fluttering to Eren’s briefly. One look into her son’s eyes, and she understands why; one look into his mother’s eyes, and Eren knows she has him all figured out. “I was worried you might not show at all.”

Eren strategically averts your gaze when you turn your head towards him, choosing to look at his mother instead.

“I didn’t even know there was a rehearsal dinner,” you tell her, tone polite, but Eren can hear the clear jab directed towards him, “I’m sorry, I—we would have gone, otherwise.”

“No need to apologize, darling,” Carla smiles, “I’m sure you two were very busy.”

“We were,” Eren cuts in, words definite. He sees a hint of surprise flash in his mother’s eyes briefly, expertly covered up with her sweet demeanor. She only nods in understanding, sitting back a bit to wrap her arm around Mitchell’s.

“What are you even doing here, Ma?” Eren questions, even as you do the same with his hands under the table, “Isn’t it bad luck to see the groom before the wedding.”

“After the third or fourth wedding, you grow tired of pleasantries and superstitions, my love,” she replies, “This place makes Mitchell’s favorite macarons, we thought we’d share a few before the big day. Maybe get some tea as a pre-celebration.”

The topic of sweets has you speaking up once again, engaging both his mother and Mitchell in a discussion about them, and your other findings from bakery hopping earlier. If Eren didn’t love you to pieces, he would have left the table a long time ago.

It carries on much longer than he can bear to endure; almost an hour of you, and his mother, and Mitchell making pleasant conversation while he tries his best not to brood beside you, but it’s futile. He feels like a little kid again. Stuck at the dinner table with his mother and a man he was being forced to get to know, only for him to become a stranger to him in a matter of months.

Eren grinds his teeth into each other when you laugh at something Mitchell says. He’s not going to sit through his any longer; or ever again.

“Well, this has been fun,” Eren says, voice blatantly monotonous as his cuts through the conversation, “But we should all probably head back go to bed. Big day tomorrow.”

“Eren, we should—” but, he stands up quickly, hand wrapping around yours to force you upwards too.

He doesn’t care to look at you, knowing the dissatisfied expression he’ll be met with. He fishes for his wallet and pulls out too many Euros, neatly tucking them under an unused knife to pay for the meal.

Eren’s steps out from between his chair and the table. “We’ll see you guys tomorr—” But is stopped before he can take three steps away.

His mother’s hand wrapped around his wrist. She stands, significantly shorter than Eren’s full height. “Actually, Eren, could I borrow you for a bit?”

And he doesn’t want to, because he knows exactly the conversation waiting for him. But he looks down at her, lets his eyes flicker to you, and back to her, and he knows he doesn’t have the heart to walk away. Not even if he tried.

He sighs with a shallow nod. He can feel your hand on his shoulder, the proud smile on your lips when you tell him that you’ll meet him back at your hotel. Mitchell ensures him and Carla that he’ll make sure you get back safely, and Eren still can’t stand the guy, but he’s grateful that he can at least be of use for something.

Eren kisses you on the forehead briefly, a promise to you and himself that he’ll finish his confession later. After all, he probably should come to terms with the woman who taught him what love is before he vowed to love you for the rest of his life.

The walk to his mother’s hotel is silent, Eren choosing to keep to himself, hands stuffed in his pockets to prevent his mom from holding them. He’s probably acting like a child, but isn’t that what he is to her; isn’t that she treats him as.

“Look, Ma, you don’t need my approval to marry him,” Eren grumbles, when they finally exit the elevator into the hotel room, “It doesn’t matter to me.”

“Of course I don’t,” Carla offers him a small grin, even if he won’t look at her directly, “But it matters to me.”

“Why does it matter now? It didn’t matter with Keith, or Henry, or Henri with an I, or any of the others,” Eren mumbles, reluctantly taking a seat on the stool opposite the vanity.

His mother tracks his movements with soft eyes and an amused grin as Eren absentmindedly bends a knee and begins to fiddle with the hem of his pants. Just like he used to when he was upset as a child.

“It mattered then, too, Eren,” she tells him, sitting on the stool and facing him.

He’s surprised by her words, his wide eyes giving him away even if he attempts to act unfazed. “It didn’t seem like it.”

Carla opens her mouth to speak, but closes it, words stuck in her throat. She watches Eren’s hunched figure, her tall son not even bothering to look her in the eyes. She exhales slowly; if he were five feet smaller, he’d have tucked himself under her arm, still refusing to look at her, but he’d have snuggled his head into her side while he pouted anyway.

“I suppose it didn’t,” she admits, “In the end, the love wasn’t enough to make it last, then.”

Eren is quiet for a bit at that, pulling at his pants leg. “And… and you love him enough, now?”

“It’s more than love, Eren. It’s... happiness—for yourself and another person—it’s being okay with somebody knowing you now, and forever. Whichever version of you that is.”

“Then why did you marry them before?” Eren asks, “If you knew it wasn’t enough, if you knew it was just going to end up as another big mistake.”

“Maybe the marriages were a mistake, and some of what came with them, but I don’t think the feelings were,” Carla muses, “Love is never wasted.”

“How can you say that?” Eren questions, disbelief and exasperation painted on his face, “Of course it is—you wasted your time, and your money, and your—your everything on those people who couldn’t care less about you now!”

“Eren—”

“You let them into our house,” Eren speaks over her, “You let them into your life, and they left. They always left—”

“Eren—”

“—And you even let some of them come back! Everyone, you let everyone have another chance, another anniversary, another wedding,” He’s ranting, crying, hot, irrational tears streaming down his face; hiccups interrupting his speech, “So—so, so if it’s not wasted and everyone gets another chance and another chance and another chance—why didn’t he come back, huh? For his?”

Eren’s standing now, arms flailing every which way during his breakdown, but his mother doesn’t try to stop him. She lets him continue, hears him out.

“If it’s love—if it’s not wasted, and it’s real—then why didn’t he come back? Why didn’t he want to? Why—why didn’t he want me? Why did I end up the bastard?”

Eren looks his mother in the eyes for the first time in the duration of their conversation with that final question; with his vision blurry, and chest heaving, and cheeks wet. Carla has no words to say; can only carefully open her arms, and wait for her son to come crashing into them. And he does; and it rains and pours, and Eren holds onto his mother for dear life, and onto the pieces of her breaking heart.

“Am I not good enough to have that kind of love?” Eren asks through tears, “Am I not special enough to want to know?”

“Eren,” she finally speaks, moving to cradle his head in her hands, “You don’t have to be special or good, to be known or loved. It’s enough that you were born. That’s enough to make you deserving of love.”

She doesn’t mind the tears against her palms or the hiccups of Eren’s breathing, “And you already have it.”

And Eren looks at her with eyes wide and wild like a child, staring at the first person to have ever loved someone as messed up, and plain, and ordinary as him; and he can feel more tears bubbling at his eyes.

“Ma, I’m—I’m so sorry,” he chokes out, wrapping his arms around her even tighter, chin resting on her shoulder while his shake through his tears, “I’m so fucking sorry.”

Carla hugs her son as close as she can, like he’s five years old and the apple of her eye and she can take all his pain away. “You don’t have to be. You’re my son, and I’ll love you always.”

It feels like they have all the time in the world like that, to hug and cry and apologize; but Carla hopes Eren knows that he was always forgiven; that he never had anything to apologize for in the first place.

“She loves you, too, baby,” she coos, holding Eren as tight as possible, “But you have to let her know that. That you accept it.”

“Do you think she knows?” Eren asks, words muffled into the fabric of her clothing, “That I love her, too?”

“I do,” Carla confirms, pulling away to look at Eren in the eyes; his beautiful, shining, green eyes, “But I don’t think that either of you really realized it. I mean, you did give her an engagement ring, darling.”

Eren huffs at the memory, “She thought it was a gift.”

“Because you gave it to her as a gift.”

“I thought it was pretty obvious.”

“Love has a way of making people blind,” Carla muses, “Especially two lovesick semi-adults with too much money on their hands.”

Eren’s cheeks grow pink at the accusation, “It’s your money!”

“Yes, and I’m very happy to have it,” Carla chuckles, motioning for Eren to stand up. He does, and she looks up at him with glimmering, proud eyes. “Now, go, shoo. You have a girl to propose to, don’t you? There might be two Jaeger weddings this weekend.”

Eren nods, certain of himself for the first time in a while. He turns on his heel with a vigor igniting his footsteps, but pauses when he reaches the elevator. He makes a sharp turn, running back to his mom one last time, and squeezing her suddenly, and tightly against him.

“I love you, mom,” he says; the words too foreign on his tongue, and he vows to not let them be a stranger to his vocabulary from here on out.

“I love, you, too, Eren,” Carla calmly wraps her arms around her son one last time, “And I always will.”

You half-expected your walk back to your hotel with Mitchell to be painfully awkward, but he proves to be a pleasant conversationalist, even in Carla’s absence.

You know that Eren isn’t fond of him, but you wish that he would at least give him a chance. There’s no way to know if a marriage—if any relationship—will last forever, but, sometimes, you think it’s not about knowing about forever; but, rather about wanting it to make it there; about willing to go the distance with that person.

You can see that want, that willingness that works alongside love in Mitchell and Carla’s relationship, that stands out from her past marriages. You get the feeling they’re going to last; and that, most importantly, they both want it to, too.

It’s quiet out as you both walk the streets of Paris, Mitchell taking the time to point out small notes in architecture that interest you. You readjust your jacket as a gust of wind washes over you, careful to make sure your necklace doesn’t snag against your clothing.

“That’s a beautiful ring,” he calls to you gently.

“Thank you,” Surprised, you quickly let out an embarrassed cough, looking down to your left hand resting atop the uppermost button on your coat. “It was a gift.”

“I meant that one,” Mitchell corrects, carefully gesturing to his own neck to indicate that he was talking about the ring on your necklace, and not the one on your finger.

“Oh, thank you,” you repeat, “That one was actually a gift, too.”

The older man hums, continuing your walk to your hotel. “Must have been one hell of a gift. I don’t know many people who give out engagement rings as presents.”

“Oh, no, no, no, it wasn’t—it’s not an engagement ring,” you tell him, feeling a warmth creep up your cheeks even in the chilly atmosphere of the night, “Eren gave it to me, actually, a few years ago—it was a Christmas gift.”

“Eren, huh?” Mitchell smiles fondly, “That makes sense. Carla tells me how much he cares about you.”

“You—she does?” you stutter. Mitchell nods. “I—I mean, I care about him, too.”

“Enough to accept an engagement ring from him, it seems,” Mitchell taunts, “I’m no specialist, but I know a Harry Winston piece when I see it. They’re not cheap.”

“Trust me, I know,” you scoff, “I almost killed him when I saw how much he spent on it.”

“And you took it, anyway?”

“Well, he—he was supposed to return it,” you defend yourself, “Because I didn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea! But he just, well, he gave me the other one instead, so I wear that one on my hand.”

Mitchell pauses, just as you both stand to the entrance of your hotel. “And what was the wrong idea you didn’t want people getting.”

“That... that...,” you pause, thinking back to that Christmas day.

Even though Eren is known for spending ludacris amounts of money, the ring came as a genuine surprise to you. A couple thousand on shoes, sure—you’re victim to that yourself; a couple hundred thousand on a lavish vacation wasn’t out of the ordinary, either; but a million, maybe even more, on a ring that you could have only ever asked of him in your dreams was another thing completely.

And, sure, even a few million didn’t mean much to you or Eren at the end of the day, but it wasn’t just the price; it was the object of the money, too. To accept a house, or a car, or a jet for that amount is something you could rationalize; but a ring seemed foreign, and far out of your league.

Then there was the display and value it held beyond money. It’s beautiful, gorgeous, but more than that, it’s tailored to your exact liking. The synthesis of your aesthetic and everything you could ask for, garnished with the memory of Eren in the very design; the diamonds you love, the flowers that remind him of you, and the way they stems wrap around each other and the petals meet in the middle.

A small gasp leaves your lips and instinctively, you reach to clutch the ring in your hold. There was no way this was an engagement ring... Eren hadn’t proposed to you when he gave it to you—in fact, he was so casual about it, that it had you stunned that he hadn’t thought to consider that other people might think it meant something more than what he intended it to be.

But, looking back, it seems like you’re the only one who didn’t understand what was going on. Because Eren told you, even then, that he’d wanted you forever; you didn’t know how to hear him. It was all right there—not just in the ring, but in all his gifts, in the entirety of your friendship.

Eren loves you, more than you could ever know.

“It’s an engagement ring,” you say aloud, but more to yourself than to Mitchell, “Oh my god, it’s an engagement ring.”

Mitchell can’t do anything but smile at your revelation. You’re practically bouncing off the walls, connecting the puzzle pieces of your relationship in the middle of the street at damn near midnight, but you don’t care; because it finally feels right, and it finally, finally all makes sense.

“He, but he never pro—oh my fucking god, I’m going to kill him.”

You feel elated and confused and happy and murderous all at once. Eren wanted to marry you; Eren loved you. He wants you for the rest of his life, and you’ve been too blind to see it this entire time.

Still, you think that maybe a verbal proposal might have helped to open your eyes a bit.

“Mitchell, I have to—”

You’re cut off by the echo of your name coming from the opposite end of the street, and you can just barely make out of Eren’s figure in the faded lights of the street lamps. His name falls from your lips like a whisper, and you hardly register Mitchell’s amused, soft laughter from beside you.

“I think that’s my cue,” he says, patting you on the shoulder, “I better get back to Carla. Something tells me you two have a bit to talk about.”

You can barely nod at him, eye still wide and stunned, but a smile on your face even in your fearful anticipation. You don’t have time to thank him before he turns away, bidding you goodnight; and then you have something else to focus on, as Eren’s footsteps grow louder, and his silhouette grows sharper the closer he gets to you.

He practically crashes into you, chest heaving, hair wind-swept and wild from his running. He puts his hands on your shoulders, to steady himself physically and mentally, labored breaths ghosting over the top of your head.

“Hi,” he finally squeaks; and that stupid, big, dopey grin is on his face.

It’s ridiculous, so utterly ridiculous that you can’t help but greet him back. The two of you stand there, smiling like fools for god knows how long, before the realization strikes you for a second time.

Eren opens his mouth to finally speak, but a pained squeal leaves his lips instead as he feels the back of your hand slap his chest. “Ouch—hey, what was that for!”

“What the hell do you think you were doing proposing to me without telling me?” you screech, packing another punch to his chest for good measure, but it’s a poor barrier and does nothing to stop your tears from falling, “You’re an idiot, I should kill you for this, you know that, Eren Jaeger?”

Eren laughs softly, only to be heard by you in close proximity. He takes your offending hand in his, and reaches for your other, pulling both of them between your bodies. He can feel tears welling in his own eyes, as he looks down at the necklace, glimmering perfectly under the moonlight.  

“In my defense, the first thing you told me to do when I gave it to you was to return it.”

“I might not have said that if you told me what it meant,” you can hardly choke out a laugh through your tears; and Eren can’t stop his from falling either, “It’s insane, you know. This whole thing—to ask me to marry you at 19. For me to not realize until we’re 21.”

“I know,” Eren agrees, inching closer even though there’s barely any room between you, “I know. But I know I love you, every version of you. I always have, I always will.”

You close your eyes as Eren’s hands move to your face, gingerly sweeping your tears away from your cheeks. He feels too close, it feels like too much; but you don’t want him to move.

“You know... if you had asked me, then,” you start, blinking your eyes open with a sniffle; you’re met with Eren’s emerald greens one with far too much hope and love glimmering in them, “I—I don’t even know what I would have said.”

“And if I asked you now?”

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, slowly raising your hands to wrap around Eren’s wrist, and lower them to your neck, before looking at him again, “Ask me.”

Eren blinks, carefully trailing his hands up and around your neck, nimble fingers undoing the clasp of your necklace. He hardly lets the chain pool into his hand before it’s tossed aside, and the ring is still between his thumbs and index fingers as he lowers himself on to one knee.

“You are the love of my life, and there’s not a single version of life—a single version of you, or me—where I don’t want to be with you forever,” Eren says, “And you know how shit I am with my words, but I fucking mean it. I swear to you, that I’ll do my best every day to show you how much you mean to me; marry me, and I’ll prove it to you, I swear, I will.”  

Your lips are wobbling at Eren’s confession below you, and you can just barely beckon him upwards in your state. He’s hardly back on two feet before you’re pulling him against you, ghosting the word “yes” on his lips before you kiss him.

You both melt into the kiss, Eren’s hands skillfully cupping your cheeks, while he keeps the ring in his hold and bruises your lips together.

“You don’t have to prove it to me, Eren,” you assure him, hand shaking when you pull apart and let him slip the ring onto your finger—where it belongs, “You already have.”

For his first birthday as a married man, Eren requested something intimate. He wanted just a small celebration with all of your mutual friends, some good food, alcohol, and lots of fun.

Supposedly simple and intimate for him entailed renting out the top floor of the Whitney, which was currently encasing an exhibit portraying some kind of abstract modern art that allowed for a very drunk Eren and Armin have to entertain themselves by trying their best to recreate the paintings using very flawed couples aerial yoga.

The art, paired with the dimmed lighting, Jean’s choice selection of overtly sexual music, and Eren’s pick of overpriced champagne also meant that Marco, Bertholdt, Connie, and Sasha found everything ten times funnier than they were—which meant they were a million times louder than usual.

Jean stands next to you by the bar, watching as Eren attempts to hold Armin above his head by holding on to just his waist. They’re unsuccessful, of course, resulting in both boys toppling onto the ground as the majority of their older friends laugh along.

“Lucky me, I get to take him home at the end of the night,” you drawl, turning to the bartender to order another drink.

She smiles, easily preparing your martini and sliding it you with an inquiry. “That’s your boyfriend? The tall one with the brown hair?”

“No,” you sigh, eyes closed for a moment before taking the glass between your fingers. “That’s my husband, unfortunately.”

× even more notes: this fic. is my baby. it’s been a draft of mine for over two years at this point. it’s gone through various fandoms but i’ve never quite been able to complete and post it, so i’m very happy that it’s finally here! i hope you all enjoyed, and i just wanted to say that i’m glad to finally have been able to share this with you all!

[weepingvoidpenguin]

One of Your Favorites

Jealous Bucky x Reader

Summary: You have an objective. Get Rumlow to confess. Simple enough, right? No. Aside from his usual condescending attitude towards you, Bucky has made it extremely apparent that he doesn’t think you’re capable of - well, anything, but especially not handling Rumlow. And yet, he is the biggest challenge of this entire ordeal.

Warning: T R I G G E R WARNING!! ATTEMPTED SA, DRUGS, language, light smut. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE DO NOT READ IF SA WILL TRIGGER YOU. 

Word Count: 8.3k

   “We have good intel stating he’s working as a double agent for HYDRA. Selling information, exploiting tactics, even going so far as to tell them where we’ll be and when.” Natasha scanned the room, making sure she had everyone’s attention during the briefing. 

   You slouched back in your swivel chair and twisted to-and-fro slightly with your hands gripping the arm rests on either side. It took all of your willpower to act engrossed in her words. And you meant every single drop. You’d been paying attention, sure, but the only issue was the dominating presence two seats to your right and directly in your line of sight to Natasha. You rolled your chair to the left to clear the path for the third time, only for him to block your way without missing a beat. The growl that left your mouth was nearly involuntary. Nearly.

   How long would this man act like a child? Despite his graceful and seemingly unsuspecting movements, you were fully aware his placement was intentional. This was not the first, nor did you doubt that it would be the last, time that Bucky acted impudently toward you. Frankly, you’d grown bored of his behavior. It was the same thing everyday. He would act a nuisance during the briefings, speak over you whenever he had the chance, steal the limelight from you and invalidate any concerns or thoughts you shared. The whole charade grew tiring and he had been dancing on thin ice for months now.

   You averted your gaze from burning holes through the freshly washed, brown locks and switched your attention back up to the redhead. Thankfully, too, because you managed to catch the end of her sentence just as she locked eyes with you.

   “And that’s why Y/N is going to be the one to extract the information from him,” she finished.

   You blinked, “Wait, what?” 

   Bucky straightened his posture and threw a quick glance your way, “Yeah, what? She’s got no heat, couldn’t toast marshmallows if we gave her all day. She shouldn’t lead this, she wouldn’t know how,”

   “Well, tonight might be a good time to start learning, then,” Steve chimed in, throwing a wink your way. You smiled and appreciated his aid, not because you needed it but because at this point, you were seething and if you opened your mouth to defend yourself this meeting would go south, quickly. Luckily, Steve always believed you were capable of a great deal of things and knew you strove for more experience so any opportunity to lead or expand was one he thought you should take. 

   “Besides,” Tony spoke up, twirling a platinum pen between his fingers from across the table, “our little double-agent has always had the hots for Y/N so unless you’re gonna be the one to bat your eyelashes at him and get him alone in a room, Mr. Barnes, we have to use his own flaws against him.” He turned to face you and held up a hand, “Not to say that liking you is a flaw, you’re great Hot-Stuff but exploiting him is our best option indefinitely,”

   “Do I have to seduce him?” You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest and raising a brow towards Nat, trying your damned hardest to avoid the unmistakable glare the brown-haired super soldier was sending your way. 

   “The only thing you have to do is extract any information on him that you can. Get him a little drunk, catch him in a slip-up or two, take note of any inconsistent stories and be on your merry way,” she reassured, “How you manage to do that is up to you,”

   “Ooh, extortion,” Clint chirped up from the far back corner, his hands rubbing together maliciously around an arrow he pulled from his sheathe, something you noticed he did a lot when he was uninterested; be it a person, mission, or conversation.

   “No. Not extortion,” Steve shut it down and you chuckled at how Clint’s countenance fell into one of disappointment. 

   “Not yet anyway,” Natasha mumbled and you sighed as she walked around the room and handed each of you a folder with your individual objectives inside.

   “But he’s such a pervert,” you grumbled.

   “All the easier,” 

~

   The rest of the day was drudged with Nat while she taught the pertinence of body language (both yours and theirs), verbal ruses, and overall ensnarement. You bat your eyelashes until you were certain you would catch enough wind to fly away, smirked enough that your cheeks began to ache and raised your eyebrows ‘til you felt the impending wrinkles on your forehead. By the end of the drill you weren’t sure you were even going to make it to the company party from the migraine creeping its way on.

   “How’s the bait coming along?” His voice alone caused you to roll your eyes but you paid no mind while you rubbed at your temples and stood up alongside Natasha.

   “She’s not gonna be able to lie to me any time soon but she can flirt her way to whatever she wants,”

   “Benefits of targeting a narcissistic misogynist, they don’t think anyone can fool them.” Tony belted as he sauntered into the room with strawberries, offering them out to you while he munched on one.

   “She’ll still mess it up,” Bucky countered, “Make someone else do it,”

   You plucked the fruit off Tony’s tray and examined it, trying to figure out whether you were going to consume it or use it as a weapon.

   “I really appreciate your words of encouragement, James. Unfortunately, they’re not wanted, nor are they needed.” You bit into the fruit and glided towards the door, looking over your shoulder at the super soldier, “So unless you actually have something to contribute, I suggest you stay the hell out of my way while I get the job done,”

   Nat walked out behind you and handed you a tiny, skin-colored device meant to conceal itself and you placed it in your ear. 

   “The conversation is gonna be recorded so we can catch any inconsistencies. We’ll all be able to hear what you’re saying so tread on delicate waters but don’t be afraid to shake mountains if you have to,”

   You nodded and opened your door for her to enter your room knowing she’d want to help you get ready for the event. Natasha, shocking as it turns out, enjoys company while preparing for events. She would much prefer to be surrounded by people than be alone. You never had gall to ask her why that is. Or maybe you respected her too much to ask.

   An hour had passed, maybe two, but you enjoyed the silence between you both. There was no need to fill the empty quiet when it was so comfortable and welcoming. You two spoke without words at times and that was probably your favorite personal skill. Eventually, there came a knock on your door and you opened to find Wanda with her flat iron and make-up bag in tow. It’d long since been decided that your room was the gathering center.

   Wanda helped you finish touching up your outfit and you waited on your bed while they finished getting ready. Nat occasionally quizzed you on certain situations and how you should act depending on the tones and moods of the conversation. You tried to explain that you didn’t have difficulty reading a room but Nat tested you all the same. 

   “And if he puts his hand on your thigh?” She called out from your bathroom.

   “Then he loses it,” you practically sang in response.

   You were met with a flying hairbrush and laughed at the onslaught.

   “You’re not the only one with that mentality,” Wanda called out as well, her iron glossing over thin strands of hair.

   “Nat knows I can handle myself.” You sat up on the bed and went over to your closet to collect your favorite pair of shoes to go along with the formal attire Nat selected for tonight. “What a coincidence that we happen to have a company party the same night we have to extract information,” you hollered over your shoulder, moving aside terribly worn shoes while you scoured for the pair you had in mind.

   “This objective has been in the works for weeks now,” Nat released the tendril of hair from around the barrel and pinned it to her head so it could cool.

   “Wow, thanks for the heads up, then.” You gripped the desired pair and placed them beside your nightstand for later.

   “The plan wasn’t solid until we knew for a fact that Rumlow was coming. It’s a company party so it’s not mandatory but once he heard you were making an appearance, it didn’t take very much persuading,”

   You rolled your eyes and plopped back down on your mattress, “He’s so annoying, I doubt I can hold much of a conversation with him,”

   “Take a shot or two to ease your nerves, if he sees you drinking it’ll put him at ease too. He’ll be more inclined to drink,” Natasha recommended. “But don’t act too out of character. If you were always curt and short with him and suddenly you start acting over-friendly, he may get suspicious. He’s an idiot but he’s a paranoid one,”

   You nodded, taking a mental note to have a half-empty bottle in your grasp when Rumlow arrives. If he thinks you’ve already been drinking, he might also consider catching up. 

   “Y/N? Not uptight for once?” Wanda sarcastically questioned. “I can’t picture it,”

   “Oh, fuck off,” you grumbled and in turn received laughter from the two girls. “Besides, of all of us I’m by far the least uptight. Barnes takes the cake for that one,”

   There was a beat of silence that you didn’t register before you were met with a response.

   “Ya know, he’s not as bad as you paint him out to be.” Nat unpinned the curl from her head and moved on to the next section, “He’s got some serious loyalty and always willing to volunteer first for everything,”

   You lifted your head to stare at her reflection through the mirror, “What are you talking about? He’s annoying and irate and lacks a filter,”

   “Mmm, irate isn’t the word I would use,” Wanda countered, looking over to Natasha.

   Nat shook her head in response, “I’d lean more towards . . . over-protective,” 

  “Much better,” Wanda agreed.

   You squinted your eyes at their image and felt the corners of your lips turn downwards, “Over-protective? Since when are you two defending Barnes?”

   “We’re not defending him, per say.” Wanda glanced over to Nat, “We’re just trying to give you a fresh perspective,” 

   “You could give me a brand new pair of eyes and I’d still see him the same,” you retorted, now leaning on your elbows due to the strain on your neck. 

   They ignored the comment, “And he’s only annoying to you,”

   “You’re telling me he doesn’t annoy you at all?” You asked, an eyebrow raised.

   “More like . . . he doesn’t go out of his way to mess with us.” Nat applied a nude color onto her lips.

   “So you agree that he goes out of his way to irritate me,” you stated rather than asked.

   “That’s been made very apparent,” Wanda responded. “But you have to wonder why,”

   You huffed a little and sprawled back out on the bed just to result in staring at the ceiling above. If you looked hard enough your mind would create pictures from the chaos of the cracks and shapes began to form. Sometimes, when the night lay still and life seemed to dwindle at the edges of your reality, you could swear a familiar face fashioned together and your imagination ran wild with the images you’d see. Some that brought a warmth to your cheeks even now. 

   You shot up out of bed and shook the memories from your vision. Ugh. He haunts you even when he’s not actively tormenting you. How he’s managed to crawl his way so deeply within your skin you had no idea but you fought for control of your thoughts whenever you caught them slipping into that hellhole.

   “Or slipping into euphoria,” Wanda chimed in.

   “Wanda!” You scolded, crossing your arms, “Euphoria my ass,”

   “Yeah, he thinks so too,” she continued and you chucked the abandoned hairbrush back their way. 

   “Stay out of my head,” you jokingly sniped at her but was met with a low chuckle.

   “I didn’t even have to be in your head to know what you were thinking of,” Nat defended and caught your weapon of choice.

   “Are you guys done yet?” You rolled your eyes and stretched yourself out before swiping up the pair of heels you’d chosen and sliding them onto your feet.

   “Why? Are you in a hurry to see a certain someone?” Natasha teased and Wanda let out an eruption of laughter.

   “All right, I’m done.” You made a beeline for the door and threw it open, “Lock up when you’re finished!” You bellowed over your shoulder and made your way to the top floor of the building where all the parties are typically held.

   You didn’t run into anyone on the way up and you used that time to calm yourself, prying inch by inch away from the invasive thoughts that called for you in the darkest hours of the night. But, then again, maybe those tormenting thoughts weren’t that bad? You mean, he certainly IS handsome, very much so actually. And he has the most knee-wobbling smirk you’d ever come to know, not to mention those little tricks he does with his knives always manage to entrance you. God, did he know how to use a knife. 

   On more than one occasion had you caught yourself staring at how his hands encapsulated the hilt of the blade. How they clenched and relaxed, drawing out some of the more prominent veins on one of the extremities; of course, you were even more so enticed by the hand he hid as well. You’d imagined what it felt like to have such strong hands grip onto your thighs and coax you into spreading them open with just a few teasing touches here and there. You couldn’t fathom the front you’d put up would last very long, he was stellar at pulling reactions from you. He’d see you break under his caresses and he’d degrade you like he always did but this time it’d emit a different response from you, one that made you whimper and shake. At that, he’d probably call you a good girl, he definitely seems the type to switch between degradation and praise, and would press his mouth up just where you wanted it the most. You’d try your hardest to be quiet but damn the way that tongue moved against you and the way he’d pull you harder against his face at each sound of pleasure you let slip past your lips. He’d enjoy it, too. Eyes closed as he devours you, he likes to put on a show for you to watch. Give you a memory that’ll slick your thighs later that night if he hadn’t fucked you into a coma by then. He’d make you watch him and if you dared to close your eyes you’d earn a firm, cold smack on your ass. He knows you like when he uses temperature play. He growls a little too, he can’t help his innate behavior. Then, just as the accumulation is coming to its apex he’d pull away abruptly and kiss you straight on your mouth so you can taste yourself and that’d earn him another whimper which would result in another smack that leads to that cold metal trailing its way to your core and just as he pushes the tip of his finger inside-

   You cough and straighten your posture as the elevator door opens. When had you leaned up against the back wall of the elevator? Oh Gods, you could feel the slick at the apex of your thighs and you squeezed them together as inconspicuously as you could in fear that you were producing a . . . scent that would be rather difficult to conceal. But the slick only grew worse when you locked eyes with the person stepping into the elevator.

   Fuck.

   “That’s what you chose to wear?” He asked, a certain venom in his tone that immediately calmed the ache in your heat.

   “And what would you have me wear instead, Barnes?” You quipped back, your body facing forward as he took his place beside you in the cramped space.

   There was a beat of silence. Then another. “Not that,” he responded.

   “Well I’ll make sure to ask you next time since you have such impeccable taste,” you retorted, your eyes yet to abandon the sight of the closing doors.

   You weren’t sure of all the effects of the Super Soldier Serum that had been injected into Bucky and all that it heightened but you prayed to any God that would listen that his hearing wasn’t one of those things. You were too preoccupied with attempting to settle the hot pulse beating between your legs to worry about how loud your discomfort came across.

   “What do you look so nervous about?” Bucky’s gruff voice prodded. “You can’t possibly be nervous about the mission considering how big-headed you are,”

   You took a deep, long breath and held it to soothe you. Had you not been so previously preoccupied, you’d have given him hell for the insult. “I’m not nervous about that,” you sniped and rested back against the cool wall to satiate your burning skin before lifting your gaze to him only to find him already examining you.

   “Of course not, I just said that,” he retorted, bringing a gloved hand to his face to rub along his jaw, “there’s obviously nothing for you to worry about,”

   You scoffed, “And why is that, Barnes?” Cue the dramatic crossing of your arms. 

   “You’re smarter than Rumlow and significantly better trained. Overall, he really doesn’t hold a candle to your ability,” He paused for a second, his whole frame tensing until he remembered to relax, “But that’s not really saying much considering it’s Rumlow,” 

   You hadn’t noticed you raised your eyebrows until you felt your face fall, “Ah, there he is. You had me worried there for a second, Barnes. Thought you might actually try something new and display common decency for once,”

   A corner of his mouth turned up subtly and he shook his head. You trailed your gaze down to his hidden hand and stared long enough to burn a hole through the fabric.

   “If something’s bothering you, Dollface, go ahead and speak up,” 

   You weren’t sure what possessed you to say anything, especially knowing how touchy the subject was for him but the words left your mouth anyway, “I don’t know why you insist on hiding yourself,”

   He lurched his head back, your statement seeming to have a physical affect on the man and you mentally slapped yourself for saying anything.

   “I’m not hiding myself,”

   “But you are,” you interrupted, your thoughts coming out in pools of candor, “you aren’t your hand. You aren’t your past. You are you. Presently. You’re not the Winter Soldier anymore. That’s not even the same hand you had back then. It’s not tainted and neither are you. I say drop the gloves,”

   “And why would I care about what you say?” He growled, his eyebrows furrowed together and his neck tight in potential restraint.

   The elevator dinged and you looked towards the opening doors, “You don’t have to but they don’t look right with your suit either.” You walked through the exit and sauntered over to the others who had already gotten the party started, leaving Bucky dumb-founded behind you. “I need a shot,”

   “Already ready,” Tony quipped up, holding the small glass in the air for everyone to behold before bringing his cheek to yours in mock welcoming, “This’ll up your tolerance for the next hour, try to get all your drinking done within that time-frame,”

   You pulled away with a warm smile after faux kissing his cheek, “Finally!” you displayed and threw the liquid back in one swift motion, your face scrunching together against your will.

   “Yeah, she’s got a kick to her,” he mumbled and handed you a fruity drink to chase it down with. 

   You went around and said hi to everyone as you recognized most of those present. You made small chatter with those lesser known and drank the liquid in your hand significantly quicker than you’d like to. You excused yourself after you finished the drink and walked over to the bar, scanning the room as you were handed another glass. No Rumlow in sight.

   You headed towards the foosball table and gripped the handles after setting the beverage down on the counter beside you. You flinched as a reflection of light caught your eye and at first you thought your glass was the source. Until your eyes fixated on the reflection’s actual origin. To your far right, and up a few steps you found Bucky conversing with Steve, a dull light emitting from his hand. Not a glove in sight.

   “So, where’s your boyfriend?” Sam inquired when he filled the opposing spot.

   You rolled your eyes, “Bucky’s not my boyfriend,”

   “Bucky?” Sam’s tone chirped up teasingly, a knowing look wearing on his face.

   Your grip tightened around the handles and you slowly pulled away to throw the little white ball through the circle, your hands immediately twisting the miniscule players around. Your eyes shot back and forth, your sight never leaving the darting sphere. Sam still managed to win the first point.

   “Ha!” He shouted in triumph, bringing his finger up as if to scold you, “Don’t think you got away with that comment either, Y/N,”

   “What comment?” you questioned and gulped most of your drink before slamming it back down on the table.

   You heard your earpiece come to life with quiet static and you tried to keep your face masked. Rumlow had entered. Not a surprise either, the party was finally starting to pick up now.

   Sam threw the ball in and you turned the players meticulously this time, brute strength hadn’t helped you earlier so maybe you should take it slow. Steve made his way over to the table and threw his drink back, the liquid trickling down the side of his face before he wiped it away. Sam won the second point.

   “I play winner,” Tony chimed, standing beside Steve.

   You made a point to catch up and now you two were tied at three each. 

   “Best out of five?” You proposed, quirking an eyebrow at Sam.

   “If you didn’t want to play anymore you could’ve just said that,” he teased and you smirked at him as Tony made a subtle show of handing you another drink and you finished your second. “Loser takes two shots?”

   “Deal.” You nodded, knowing you didn’t have much of a choice as a small crowd began to form around you two. Rumlow amongst them. 

   Your jaw dropped when Sam shot the ball directly into your goal as soon as he’d let the ball go.

   “What the fuck?” You shouted, “No fair! That doesn’t count!”

   Thor erupted in laughter to your right and you blinked slowly, staring at the gargantuan man. 

   “It most certainly does,” Sam shouted back, his grin practically touching his ears.

   “Sam, take it easy on her,” Bucky muttered from beside him, quickly averting his gaze from yours and his expression loosened, “The brat hates losing,”

   “Brat?” You snarled.

   Bucky took a swig of his beer, watching you the entire time and you reeled back the fire beginning to form in your chest just to bring your drink up to your lips and chug the entire thing down. You handed it over to Tony who left to replace it. 

   “Last point,” Sam stated, “It’s not too late to quit now,”

   You shook your head and blinked away the feign distortion you were supposed to have. “Just play the ball,”

   “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he teased and threw the ball in. 

   You wanted to win. Desperately. But you had a character to play tonight and she was supposed to be drunk. So you hit your hand against the corner of the table just as Sam happened to make the winning point. You grumbled and threw him a glare when Tony broke through the crowd.

   “Coming through,” he shouted, handing two small glasses to you while you gripped your knuckles in pain. “Noooo, you’re not getting out of taking these. C’mon, take your punishment,”

   “Yes, Daddy,” you grumbled and cringed at your own words when the realization hit you. Whatever. You were supposed to be drunk, anyway. 

   “Daddy?” Tony quipped and pulled the drinks back towards himself, “Maybe you should be cut off,”

   “What?” You argued, leaning slightly on the table with your hand and snatching the drinks from Tony’s hold, effectively spilling some on yourself. “See?” You lifted up the half empty shot glass, “This barely counts as a shot,”

   “I’ll get her a new one,” Rumlow offered and disappeared before anyone could argue. 

   “She really doesn’t need another-” Bucky tried to interject and take the shots from you but you twisted around and chugged down the one full glass.

   Water.

   You looked up at Tony and his smirk was barely noticeable. But you could tell. Bucky nearly ripped the other drink from you but Tony blocked his path and you exaggerated your next drink as Rumlow broke back into the crowd, shot in tow.

   “Here.” Rumlow’s calloused hand held the drink up above you and you stared at him with a questioning look. “Open,” he ordered and the fire burning in your chest fought to destroy everything in its vicinity. You bit your lip in refrain but tossed your head back and opened your mouth.

   Static broke over your earpiece. Don’t drink that! Wanda’s voice erupted.

   Your eyes widened as the liquid made its way down but you coughed hard to stop whatever you could. 

   Why? Steve’s voice came through right after.

   You choked on the liquid and shut your eyes at the way it burned its way down. You reached your hand out to grab someone’s drink to ease the burning and grasped a tall glass and tossed it back. The burning didn’t ease up and you felt a hand rest on your back.

   “Are you okay?” Rumlow’s voice rang out and your skin nearly recoiled from the contact, “How about we get you some water?”

   You looked up at him when the burning subsided minimally and nodded your head, letting him lead the way to the bar. He parted the crowd and someone took step right behind you to follow when the presence suddenly died out abruptly. You turned around to check who it had been and found no one.

   Why? Steve asked again.

   Where’s Wanda? Bruce broke through.

   You lifted your head and flitted your gaze around the room until you found the familiar Sokovian on the couch, laying down with her eyes closed. You pulled away from Rumlow but his grip on your hand tightened and his steps grew in haste. You whirled your head to yell at him but the way the room swayed with the movement cause you to shut your mouth in surprise. 

   Didn’t Tony say you would have a higher tolerance?

   “Couch...” you muttered, pointing over your shoulder just in case your target was curious enough to ask but the message was delivered.

   Rumlow hoisted you up onto the bar stool and stood on your open side, using his body to keep you from falling over. Or to cage you in.

   “I don’t feel good,” You rested an elbow on the countertop and held your head up.

   “I can’t imagine you would. You’ve been chugging those drinks like they’re water.” Despite that, Rumlow motioned to the bartender and asked for two more.

   You giggled and your head lulled forward with the action. You let Rumlow catch you from tumbling over. Why did your body feel so heavy? Not to mention the way everything around you dazed about. You couldn’t catch a single action, let alone attempt to read Rumlow’s body language. But you did happen to notice the way his eyes searched the room before coming back to you.

   “You okay?” You rested your forearm against his chest and pushed slightly to allow yourself a better view of his face.

   A small smirk, “Am I okay? What about you?”

   You smacked your lips and brought the ice cold glass to your lips. That’s not water. “I’m doing reeaalllyy good,” you drawled.

   Rumlow chuckled and pushed you deeper into the chair, “I can tell.” He took a sip, his attention never faltering from your body, “Just be sure to pace yourself from here on out,”

   You made a show of cocking your head to the side and letting a smile sprawl onto your face as you studied him. 

   “What?” he questioned, a curious lift in his brow.

   You shook your head gently and kept your gaze on him over the brim of your glass, “You’re just . . . not what I was expecting,”

   “And what were you expecting?” 

   Don’t forget to bat your eyelashes. “Worse,”

   “Sorry to disappoint,” he jeered, his attention once again cast throughout the room before centering back on you.

   You followed his action but quickly came to the conclusion that moving any pace faster than a sloth was going to make you nauseous and you could barely keep a thought together. Your stomach began to rise in your chest and the fear seized your throat shut. Why couldn’t you hold onto a thought for longer than a second? It was like you were aware of your lack of consciousness but could do nothing about it because any thought or bout of panic phased through just as soon as it arrived.

   “What are you so tense for, Rumlow? You know you’re not currently on the clock, right?” You teased, your head leaning on your shoulder as you spoke.

   He brought his drink up to his lips and finished it off in three gulps, “I’m not tense. It’s just hard to turn it off sometimes,”

   You nodded slowly and pushed your drink towards him, “Relax. You know everyone here,”

   He shook his head and placed your drink back in front of you before asking for another beer.

   “And two shots!” You shouted to the bartender, throwing two of your fingers high up and instantly regretting how fast you’d done it.

   “Are you trying to get me drunk?” He asked you, a side smirk beginning to form.

   You placed your finger over your lips and hushed, “Shh, I won’t tell if you don’t.” You dragged your lower lip down and his eyes fixated to commit the scene to memory. “Besides, I always feel dumb if I’m the only one drunk,”

   He motioned to the rest of the party, “Believe me, Sugar, you’re not the only one enjoying yourself,”

   “But are you?” 

   “Am I what?” 

   “Enjoying yourself?” 

   Your skin crawled when he placed his rough hand on your barren thigh, “Absolutely,”

   Don’t forget what you’re here for. Don’t let the objective slip. Gods, how the fuck were you supposed to retain anything when you were so sleepy? And why was it so warm?

   “Hot,” you mumbled, fishing around in your glass for an ice cube to rub on your face.

   “Thank you,”

   You threw your head back in laughter and nearly earned yourself an up-close and personal view of the floor had Rumlow not wrapped an arm around your waist and held you steady. Once he was certain you weren’t going to toss yourself onto the ground, he parted your legs and stood between them to keep you rooted to your seat.

   All the movement had you spinning and you white-knuckled Rumlow’s cotton shirt to keep yourself grounded to something, anything. Red warning lights were firing up in your chest and you tensed with the way your body buckled to the panic coursing through you. Your heart pounded in your ears and danced across your skin, lighting it on fire and making the room too stuffy to bear. Please, no. Not now. Focus. Snap out of it. Come back, stay back. Your breathing hitched and you looked down at the sensation crawling its way up higher on your thigh. Too hot. Everything was too hot, if you didn’t get out of this now you would never-

   “Vision!” You cheered, happy to see your friend.

   The presence on your thigh recoiled slightly.

   “I’m taking Wanda to her room, seems she’s had a bit too much to drink,” Vision informed and you’d only just then noticed the body in his hold.

   “Wanda!” You smiled, admiring her peaceful features as she slept in his arms. You poked at her cheek then jerked your gaze back up to Vision. “What? Wanda doesn’t drink,”

   She’s not acting, Sam’s voice erupted in your ear and you flinched at the sound. 

   Vision’s eyes went from you to Rumlow then back to you slowly, “Y/N . . . are you okay?”

   You beamed at him and slowly brought up your thumb. “Good,” you responded.

   You followed Vision’s gaze back up to Rumlow and smiled at the agent beside you. You guess he’s kind of cute. In a strange, unsettling way.

   “She’s had a lot to drink, so we’re just trying to slow down the pace. Aren’t we, Y/N?” Rumlow looked down at you.

   You nodded fervently, “Yup!” 

   Vision hesitated but knew he didn’t pose much of a threat with Wanda in his arms unconscious, so he quirked a smile and walked towards the hall.

   Someone get to Y/N, something’s not right, Vision ordered and you lifted your head up to find him. You could have sworn he just left.

   “Here.” Rumlow handed you a glass, “Drink this, it’ll cool you down,” 

   You stared at the glass in his hold and looked up at him, “You drink it first,” you slurred, holding your finger up at him.

   He cocked his head to the side but took a swig of the drink and you watched it go down his throat. You shrugged and grabbed at it.

   Do not drink that, Nat ordered from somewhere and you looked around in wonder at who she was yelling to.

   Bucky, Sit down! Steve growled.

   Like hell, responded a voice you knew all too well.

   Your smile grew and you looked through the crowd, “Bucky!” You feverishly called, completely expecting to see him before you. Rumlow’s head lifted instantly, his eyes scouring the area.

   “I’ve got this, Pretty Boy,” Tony hastily spoke, “How ya doin’, Hot Stuff?” He interrogated and you reeled at the tone.

   “Quite well, thank you,” you responded tenaciously and attempted to take a swig of the drink in your grasp.

   Tony’s hand shot out and covered the top, slamming the cup back down on the counter and effectively getting the drink all over your dress.

   “What the fuck?” You tried to shout but the words came out heavy and required too much energy to speak.

   “You’ve had enough for tonight,”

   “It’s just water,” Rumlow defended but Tony paid him no mind.

   Your jaw dropped open and you glared at the older man. Who the hell did he think he was? Tony’s stare burned through your skull and despite your irritation, you couldn’t help but wonder why he was so pissed.

   “Are you mad at me?” You drawled, lulling your head to the side.

   “No,” he responded curtly. 

   “Am I being too loud or something?” You pushed. You couldn’t imagine you were any louder than any other drunken bastard at this party.

   “No,”

   Get her out of there or I swear to God I will, his voice hissed into your ear.

   Your eyebrows rose slightly in excitement, “Mmm, Bucky,” you smiled and Tony nodded.

   “’Mmm, Bucky’ is right. Wanna go see him?” Tony offered, sticking out his hand for you to take.

   You fell forward into Rumlow’s chest but shook your head furiously none the less, “For what? So he can tell me I’m horrendous at my-”

   Oh shit. Your job. The job.

   If only your body didn’t feel so heavy and your mind so light.

   You pushed off Rumlow’s chest and glared at Tony, “I can handle myself,” you insisted, a new sort of sober tone making its way through that caused him to do a once-over. “I know what I’m doing,”

   “How many drinks have you had?” Tony challenged and you fell silent.

   Then you felt a tap, and another and a few more.

   “Six,” You said, hoping you’d counted right.

   Tony, don’t you even fucking consider it, Bucky threatened.

   “You could at least change, recuperate and then come back,” Tony offered and you sighed a breath of relief before nodding.

   “Deal,” you agreed, “I’m hot anyway,”

   Tony gave you one last glance before turning around and blending into the crowd on the other end of the room.

   You looked up to Rumlow who’s gaze was still locked on the sea of people, “Don’t you wish you’d taken that shot now?” you tried to jeer, every last word bringing you deeper and deeper.

   “Are they always that intense?” He questioned, not turning his attention to you.

   “They can be over-bearing,” you admitted, hand grabbing the water from earlier and pressing it up against your forehead, “They consider me the baby so they’re always criticizing and suffocating until I just wished they’d disappear.” You took a gulp, “Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate the family and I like that I have a cause but . . . they don’t let me do anything. It’s exhausting,”

   You let out a long breath and smeared the condensation from the glass onto your chest. Rumlow studied you then, not just your body but your reaction. He was watching how you dropped your shoulders at the confession and how you faced your back to them to block them out. 

   You plastered your torso on the countertop and tried to slow your heartrate down. You couldn’t be the only one here unfathomably hot.

   “Why is it so fucking hot?” You questioned, fanning yourself weakly.

   “There are a lot of people around,” Rumlow offered, “how about we go somewhere else? Tony did say you had to change,”

   You peered up at him through half-lidded eyes and meekly groaned in compliance. “Fine,”

   You lifted yourself away from the counter and gently placed your feet on the floor. You’d touched the ground faster than anticipated. Had the ground always been so close?

   “Don’t worry, I gotcha.” Rumlow threw an arm around your waist and helped you trudge towards the elevator.

   Where the hell are you going? Bucky yelled and the sound of shuffling could be heard from his end.

   We can’t let you leave with Rumlow, Y/N. We’re not even sure you’re acting anymore, Sam stated.

   Rumlow pressed the button when you couldn’t muster the strength to do it yourself. The level that your room was on lit up and the doors began closing. You thought you saw Rumlow wave at someone but the mock smile on his face didn’t make it seem like a warm good-bye.

   Your legs had all but given out by the time the elevator reached your shared floor. 

   “Heavy,” you muttered, letting Rumlow carry your weight fully.

   “I know, Sugar. We’re almost there,” he soothed and you conceded to the fatigue wearing you down.

   Your head hung low and your arm dangled uselessly at your side. The familiar sound of your door sliding open caught your attention but you did nothing. You couldn’t. 

   “How . . . know . . . my room?” You questioned, each word causing you to pull from an empty well of energy.

   “I’ve been here before.” Rumlow tossed you onto the bed and sprawled you out.

   “Oh. Ok.” You tried to turn on to your side but strong hands gripped down onto your ankles.

   Rumlow sighed and slipped the heels off your feet, examining the pair like he wanted to wear them. You extended your feet until you felt every muscle in your leg stretch to its capacity and let out a groan of pleasure at the release. Those shoes hurt so bad.

   “You seem . . . intelligent, Y/N.” Rumlow dropped your shoes onto the floor and slithered to the side of your bed, standing beside it with his hands tucked into his pockets.

   A bead of sweat trickled down your forehead, “Hot . . .” you croaked and he nodded.

   “You’re right. It is getting kind of hot.” He brought a hand up to his neck and ripped off the tie hanging around it.

   Get the fuck out of my way, a growl erupted in your ear.

   We’re going with you, Buck, Steve responded before knocking something over.

   “So, what I have a hard time understanding is. . . why you’re here?” 

   You groaned a weak ‘huh’ but even that didn’t sound right.

   “You’re good at what you do, you finish every mission successfully and yet you’re underappreciated.” He took a seat at the foot of your bed and placed one of your legs into his lap, “Why do you allow them to treat you like that? We wouldn’t,”

   The shuffling in your earpiece halted.

   “We?” 

   He began to massage your calf and brought your knee up to his lips, peppering light kisses on it. “We could use someone with your skillset, babe. We’d take real good care of you,”

   The shuffling started again.

   Rumlow had made his way onto your thigh at this point and you let out an involuntary moan when he skimmed over a delicate part on your inner knee.

   “Ya like that?” he questioned but didn’t wait for a response. He brought a hand up to his temple and grabbed the earpiece. You figured he just hadn’t taken it out from his earlier shift but when he pulled it apart, you understood why he always kept it on him.

   “Flash . . . drive earpiece?” Your weak tone tilted a little. “W-why tell . . .”

   “I figured I’d give you the option to leave since you seem so . . . suffocated. If you said yes tonight then I would remind you tomorrow. If you didn’t,” he chuckled, “well, you wouldn’t remember anyway.” His hands trailed to your mid-thigh and you squeaked. “I’m impressed though, I’ve never given anyone else as much as I’ve given you tonight. The drug usually works so quickly on others, but not you. It’s kind of hot, actually,”

   Sick fuck, Natasha growled through a ragged breath.

   The world around you was slow or maybe it was you that was slow? You couldn’t tell, honestly. But when Rumlow moved as if he could predict your actions before you could make them, you wondered whether you were moving at all.

   “Don’t worry, it’ll be over soon,” Rumlow sighed.

   You shook your head, or thought you did but despite the way your body was live-wired, it remained still against all desire. 

   Fight. Move. 

   You managed to push your legs shut but his hand slithered between and spread them open similar to opening a door, but this required much less force.

   “Kill,” You threatened and the sinister smile that crawled its way onto Rumlow’s face was vile enough to sink your heart into your stomach.

   “Kill is fucking right.” Someone snarled and your door was ripped from its hinges.

   Rumlow’s hand jerked away from your body and Bucky seized his open palm, intertwining their fingers and pushing Rumlow’s so far back that they touched the back of his own hand. The cracks were sickening onto themselves but had you not been so weak you would’ve turned from the sight altogether. You really couldn’t fathom how his fingers were still attached at all.

   “Lay another hand on her and you won’t be able to use it again.” Bucky spit.

   Despite Rumlow’s pain, the sinister smile remained sprawled on his face, “You should’ve heard the noises she made,”

   Bucky’s grip tightened and the bones in his palm broke next, “I did,”

   Natasha flew in right behind Barnes but completely dismissed the two and headed straight for you with a needle in hand. Your eyes shifted from the needle to Nat’s face and back again until she stabbed it into your upper arm. Ouch. 

   “Wha-”

   “Shh,” Natasha hastily hushed, “Keep your strength, you should be back to normal soon,”

   Steve came behind Nat and scooped you up to lead you out of the havoc going on in the room. Nat turned her focus to Bucky and reached over to grab the earpiece from Rumlow. Who knows if his nose will ever heal back normally. You held one finger in the air as Steve stepped over the splintered door.

   “Goddamit, Y/N,” Steve huffed, jogging towards the elevator and pressing the floor that led to the infirmary.

   “We won,” you croaked out, a small smile on your face and Steve shook his head.

   “I’m never going to hear the end of this,” 

   Steve looked you up and down for bruises but couldn’t find any and you promised you weren’t lying to him when you told him Rumlow did not get very far in his ‘advances’ at all. You had to swear the mid-thigh was the worst that it came to. 

   Bruce was the one that took a few blood samples and made sure everything was reversing back to normal. Apparently, as soon as Rumlow took you to the bar Tony handed Banner the shot glass that Rumlow gave you and Banner ran analysis on it. The cure was pretty easy to find.

   After being given strict orders to lie down for the next hour or so, it had been decided that Rumlow was to be turned in considering all the evidence required to make the arrest was in the flashdrive and everyone was to gather together for a ‘family night’. Whatever the hell that meant.

   You were in the middle of debating which movie to pick with Steve when the infirmary doors flew open.

   “Where is she?” Bucky nearly shouted upon seeing Bruce.

   “That’s my cue.” Steve stood up just as Bucky rounded the corner, “If you need anything me and Banner will be right over there,”

   You smiled and thanked him then turned your attention to the super-soldier who just arrived at the foot of your bed.

   He didn’t say anything for a while, just looked at you. No, not really. Not at you but through you. A few painstakingly slow seconds went by that way.

   “You owe me a new door,” you joked, a half-smile on your face.

   “Are you okay?” He asked, finally registering your presence.

   You nodded slowly, “I am,”

   Then a few more seconds.

   Bucky turned his gaze down to his hands, both of them barren and on display for the world to see, before shifting his weight between either foot, “Did he- did he touch you?”

   “Not really. Just really liked my legs for some reason,” your attempt at another quip didn’t reach Bucky. He stared back up at you waiting for an answer, an honest one. You sighed, “The damage is more mental,” you admitted, now you were the one not able to look up, “I didn’t like being in this altered state of mind. It’s invasive and . . . scary. He could’ve done things, much worse things but it never got that far or that bad. It was more realizing that I wasn’t completely conscious or present and having that state of mind be taken advantage of, that mostly frightened me. Ya know?”

   “More than anyone,” he answered immediately.

   You looked back up towards him, finally making eye contact, “But I’m fine now, really. Just a little spooked. Steve wants to do a movie night tonight and I would actually prefer that over being alone.” Your eyes fixated on the way his hands clenched and unclenched on the bar by your feet, “If I’m alone then I’ll get stuck in my head about it. Besides, I consider this a hard victory with a few bumps in the road,” 

   He chuckled, lulling his head a bit, “You’re too stubborn for your own good,”

   You shrugged, “Maybe. How’s Rumlow?”

   Bucky hissed and moved over to the side of the bed where he took a seat, “He’s unconscious. And has a hand that he’ll never be able to use again. But other than that, he’s fine,”

   You chuckled and Bucky watched how the laugh met your eyes. He liked that look on you. It was one of his favorites.

   “Why are you looking at me like that?” You questioned once it fell silent between you two again.

   “You called me Bucky earlier,” he remembered.

   You scoffed, “I call you Bucky all the time,”

   “Not to my face,”

   “Not to your face,” you agreed, a teasing smile dancing on your lips and Bucky had one that mirrored yours. 

   “It was nice. Hearing it, I mean,” he admitted and a wave of warmth made its way to your face.

   “I see your hands are exposed,”

   He looked down as though he weren’t aware that he’d taken off his own gloves, “These bad boys? A friend of mine reminded me that I’m not my past. I’m my present. Why hide my growth?”

   You twiddled your thumbs together, “She sounds smart,”

   Now he scoffed, “Oh, it wasn’t a girl, it was some old buddy of mine.” He quirked up a brow, “Unless the person being a girl would make you jealous because in that case it was most definitely a girl,”

   You fought against the natural tug at the corners of your mouth, “Is she at least pretty?”

   “Stunning,” 

   “Smart?”

   “Genius,”

   “Good at her job?”

   “Amongst the best,”

   “Then consider me jealous, Barnes,”

   Bucky chuckled and you watched how the laugh met his eyes. You liked that look on him. It was one of your favorites.

[orleans-jester]

cryptid-killjoy​:

Of course he was still doing drugs. That was adhering to the notion that if he was doing a drug he couldn’t be doing anything else. He wasn’t that sort of stereotype. This is the concept of the functional alcoholic. There are functional addicts too, less spoken about due to their illegality, but they exist. They don’t just sit around like losers all day wasting away. They handle their business, probably spend too much money, but handle their business. Bastien doesn’t have the money issue. He’s still handling his business either way. The big problem with Bastien is with his particular “challenges” being a “functional addict” as he tends to be if one can call a normally homeless person who can’t maintain a job functional, but has indeed found his place in life, is that these drugs can trigger his conditions. He’s currently been functioning in high risk mode when it comes to such. 

He comes home and takes care of Frankie after work like anything else and does so with love and care. He’s an active participant. He’s always teaching his daughter the important things like peek-a-boo, walk around the block, and if you’re going to put your feet in your mouth make sure your shoes are clean first otherwise take them off. He shows her the best music, shows, his latest finds he’s brought home daily. He sit down and would usually tell her all about it and Maddy could listen in and get the baby’s version of Bastien’s day if she wanted. He changes diapers. He likes to help feed and he loves to put her to sleep. He loves that best because he likes to see how she never hurts likes him. It’s the best part of knowing she’s his. He used to get worried when she cries that something bad was happening. Is she changing now? Is she transforming? Are you sure? Is it finally happening? What’s happening? No she’s just crying because babies cry. He’s always worried she’s in a world they can’t see. Sometimes he holds her tight to make sure she doesn’t slip away when she’s invisible. He can always feel her shape. Bastien keeps care of his little girl. 

“Then I guess I have to use the card.” He shrugged. Seemed legit to him. 

Maddy agreed. A down on his luck dude could use his funds and it wouldn’t go against Bastien’s moral landscaping if they did it this way and no to giving it to the prison. 

“Why thank you lovely wife of mine.” He grinned rather proudly of this idea. 

As for the feather, he was proud of that too. “I thought of it. I always think of everyone’s shoes. Well, in this case feet, webbed feet to be exact. I like to think about where they’ve walked, where they been, what they been through because they walked there.” 

They were indeed going to the Philippines. “And Frankie too. We’re not leaving her behind. Maybe it’ll even be the first place she walks.” Maybe it was a little early for that, but Bastien liked to hold her hands for balance while she baby-walked around pretending she was big girl. It was getting close. “Praline is walking.” She was a hair older than the rest though. 

He kept talking about where people walk. He seemed to be on a kick of it now. His walking man theme was on point or something. “You know what else? I woke up in a graveyard the other day. I don’t know if I fell asleep there or what, didn’t remember how I got there, but I did. But, I sat up and I looked around and decided it was pretty nice so I didn’t leave. It was calm and quiet. I decided to walk around and it dawned on me that’s what cemeteries are. It’s not a final resting place. It’s a library. It’s a walking tour of the history of a town, everyone that has a story there.  A graveyard is a history book for feet.” 

Then he sat down and scrolled his phone got frustrated rather quickly. “Will you help me with this flight booking? All these choices are confusing.” He didn’t really like being the detail guy. “You do the airplane part. I don’t like airplanes. I can do other stuff.” 

Then he got up and packed his one backpack like that was all he needed. Then he moved back to Maddy was thinking real hard. He reached up and patted her boob. “Well, we have an endless supply here, but what about diapers? Do we have to pack a lot of diapers or do they have normal diapers there? I know it’s a poor place but it’s not poor everywhere, right?” Then as he leaned there with the pat he got a little distracted and didn’t stop touching her. The pat turned into a cup. The cup turned into a massaging motion where his thumb kept trying to feel her nipple through the fabric. 

His hand lingered, just sort of pulled him out of his whole talky mode where he was running on and on and just started staring the way he does. He got real quiet and kept feeling the full weight of the shape from under. Even though he was picturing what he had Willem help him make on her, part of his surprise file, he couldn’t but envision what he was feeling through. 

And this whole thing just went from graveyards, swans, and diapers to, “What are you wearing under that? I want to see.” 

Oh, Maddy knew there were different kinds of drugs. But sometimes when he was out for so long and she didn’t hear from him, she imagined the worst. Some sort of heroin or - she trusted him not to take it too far, as long as he was in his right mind, whatever that meant for Bastien. It was the ones that would make him just sit there, drooling, like the shit that they gave out at hospitals that made everything uncomfortably fuzzy or so fucking stoned that you couldn’t move. That’s what she was scared of. But who wouldn’t be at this point with him.

But he did come back. And he did create these absolutely picture perfect moments with their daughter, and once again, no matter what had happened, Maddy realized that she was happy. She had it all. She’d listen in while either sitting close - being clingy - or just taking care of their house and things like that. Spreading out. New rooms. Finding purposes for these rooms. Another nursery, maybe, she’d been thinking about that. But Frankie was enough to handle for now. Bastien was an absolutely amazing father, and she wanted to give him more one day. Make that Christmas tree and train vision come true.

She trusted that Bastien would find the right man. And he’d soon become the richest man in the prison - whether that was a good thing or not - alas, it was the thought that counted, and Bastien’s thoughts were in the right place.

She was called lovely and that made her smile. She still loved her husband’s compliments. Didn’t take them for granted, even if he gave them every day. She still needed it, and she wanted to need it. She was lucky.

That did sound very much like Bastien. He wore out his shoes quickly with how often he walked around the city, so it made sense that he thought about how other people might be doing so. Or animals, in this case. “I’m sure that they all have some stories,” She said, and she even knew of someone who would be able to get those stories if Bastien ever really wanted to know.

Well of course they weren’t leaving Frankie behind. She was about to go on a long plane ride, all the way to a different continent. Her fourth already, and she wasn’t even a year old. “Oh, wouldn’t that be amazing?” She said, picturing it. She encouraged her daughter to walk of course, held her up so get used to standing but it was so much more meaningful to watch Bastien trying to teach her. He was the wanderer. It just made the most sense. “She’ll get there, baby, she’s taking things at her own pace.”

Huh - that was interesting. “I like that,” She said, nodding. “Reminds me a bit of a living library but ... dead. Did you hear that people put things like their favorite recipes on their gravestones? I think that’s beautiful,” Maddy said. She hadn’t visited a graveyard in quite some time, unless you count the streets of Feral these days with the dead that still stumble around. Most of them were unrecognizable now, the rot making them just walking vertical grills with maggoty meat.

“You make up the plan, and I’ll do the arrangements,” She nodded. She was already thinking that they should go first class for bigger seats, less people, and to make it a lot more comfortable for the long way. They’d try to fly at night, maybe get lucky and fly into the night rather than into the day, she wasn’t sure about the time zones. That way Bastien could relax a lot easier. And hotels and a rental car and just .. she could do all that. She was actually good at that. Made her feel useful.

She was looking at her phone, figuring out flights when she suddenly felt a touch on her boob which made her look up to Bastien a little shocked, but then laughed. She hadn’t been expecting that random touch. It did feel good, though she was wearing a bra. Had to when she went out now thanks to the whole breastfeeding too. Leakage was a bit of an issue still, though it had slowed down over time. “We’ll pack extra ones but I’m sure that there’s somewhere we can get them,” Maddy assured Bastien, sucking her lower lip into her mouth as he continued to touch her. They were tender from a recent feeding, but that touch felt nice. Just felt nice having someone other than Frankie going after them to be honest.

He went quiet and she didn’t interrupt the comfortable silence either. Just looked at him, admiringly, as he touched her. Her hand lightly went to his hip, to anchor them together even more in this moment. And then he asked and she was eager to deliver, not with words, but with actions.

She removed the black v-neck that she was wearing and threw it behind her on the bed, revealing the bra that she had chosen at random today. These tatas needed the support. And she had her little nursing pads in there, preventing any leaks. Girl liked the light colors against her skin. And then she stood, watching him, hoping for approval.

Bastien came rushing in their dungeon at a run. He dropped his hammer without even putting it in it's proper put-away location.

"MADDY!! MADDY!! You have to listen to what I learned tonight. You just have to."

His cheeks were flushed from the sprint. His pale skin all splotchy from the exertion to hurry up to get to her.

[movedtodykedvonte]

Grant Cohen.

My main math man! Grant! Grant "Got violently and painfully turned into an ink creature because Joey can't do basic fucking addition" Cohen! He's my scrimblo and he has like one recording and a gurgle.

Born 1889 (Died at 57 later in 1946, after Sammy)

Probs in December a Christmas bonus

only child of a lower-class family, in the middle of fuck no where probably just him and his mom

Mom commuted and worked as a textile worker while Grant worked as an errand boy for the neighborhood

They didn't have much and his Mom was tired when she came home so he did a lot of shopping and budgeting

Grant had a knack for numbers despite being average in almost everything else and honed in on it

Went to the city (NYC) when his mom became to sick to work and sent money back until he was informed of her death

Never really had friends, or social skills or connections at home so he stayed in the city after the funeral never fully recovered from it

Literally only focused on work and like surviving? Mangy is probably the best description as he was frugal due to his upbringing and lived off bare minimum

Spongebob episode where Mr. Krabs hides money in his mattress due to paranoia

Not shy or like nervous but super awkward like he doesn’t know how to properly end a conversation

Also does not know how or when to break news to people, horrible timing

Joey found him after he had put out an ad advertising his skills 

he was out of a job due to the depression and his inability to handle stress

Was promised a stable working environment yeah right and job security as Joey really can’t tolerate the smart types but Grant was cool and exploitable

Grant didn’t hate the studio but didn’t understand anything besides the projections of how much each toon would make them

he sorta knew which ones did best and what to repeat to make more money

He and Lacie got along really well cuz they both loved to complain even if he was less “i’ll kick ur ass” about it than her

He and Sammy would’ve gotten a long if either had time to hang out together

Had a higher soup stacking record than Joey but since he never showed anyone it’ll never be known

Joey killed him after showing him the ink machine thinking it’d make him calm down due to the unexplained budget (this was triggered by Joey catching him mid writing on the walls)

Joey assumed he’d be cool with it as he already fudged the numbers

Grant immediately thought it was evil and freaked out running to his office to record what he saw so if he didn’t get out the police still had a witness

Joey just sicked Bendy on his ass and immediately killed/inked him hence the gurgle recording.

Here are some goofy stuff cuz it has nothing to do with canon events or behavior, I just think it’s silly and i like him :}

his favorite color is green

never learned to swim due to his mom not letting him learn less she watched him

drinks his coffee black with 3 sugars

Biromantic Greysexual and too afraid to look for love

A touch of the tism 

A bigger dude, probably can take Joey is a fight but is too stressed

Asking me about Grant is like breaking a damn I could talk about him forever but I  won’t cuz I wanna answer the other asks in my inbox.

[maybebanks]

Hurting Part 2

LINK TO PART 1

@mavelfanatic @my-therapist-hates-me @rudypankowswife

��️: trigger warning, talks on abuse

JJ lead you to his car and took you back to the chateau. When you arrived, you were wet and cold from the ocean, but you couldn’t budge.

You never actually admitted what was done to you. Not to JJ, or anyone. There was still hope for you to convince him he was wrong.

When he parked, he stared back at you.

“How are you feeling?” JJ said softly.

You scoffed, “freezing. But fine.”

You had a towel wrapped around your legs and another draped over your shoulder.

“I should go home,” you shrugged.

“Sleep here,” JJ suggested, turning off the car and opening his door.

He got around and opened the door for you, “It’s up to John B,” you argued.

JJ chuckled, “you know John B would let you stay any day,”

You inhaled for a deep breath, but it was shaken and not smooth. This made JJ worried.

“Here let me help you out,” JJ said, guiding you with his hand on your lower back.

“Hey! I can get out of a car myself,” you interjected, slowly climbing out.

JJ put his hands up in defense, that little part of him intrigued by your stubborn side. It was like him.

You both walked inside and headed to the bathroom.

“Ooh damn it’s cold!” JJ yelped as he jumped in the shower and turned it on.

You smiled, “bet it’s freezing,”

This motivated JJ to be playful, he smirked and jumped out, then grabbed you gently and pulled you into the shower.

“Ah! No!” You screamed.

JJ laughed and let the water soak you, still with your bathing suit on.

You moved the hair out of your face and grabbed JJ by his cheeks, “You son of a-“

He cut you off by pressing his lips to yours. And once he knew you were comfortable, he moved them gently with yours.

Your hands fell to his neck and intertwined with the back of his hair.

He smiled under your kiss, and gently pushed you against the wall.

The water was getting warmer.

JJ started to unzip your wet suit top, so you pushed him back.

“Not right now, J,” you sighed.

“Oh but you’re sooo pretty,” he pleaded, one hand on the side of your face.

“Im...I’m sorry. I want to make you happy. But every time you touch me...” you paused, looking into his concerned eyes, “it’s stupid.” you sighed, looking away from him now. You moved to get around him but he stopped you.

“Hey, it’s not stupid. I’d never hurt you, Y/n,” JJ said.

“You’re just saying that,” you mumbled.

“I’m not. Do..uh do you see your step dad when I touch you?” JJ asked. Scared of the answer himself.

“No. JJ no. He’s not...I mean I’m like you. Okay? He doesn’t touch me like that, I swear.” You pleaded. If JJ was going to know about anything, he shouldn’t know about the sexual side. Those theories should be laid to rest.

“So how does he touch you?” JJ asked.

You didn’t want to talk about it, “J...um.. like I said. Like you,”

“He hits you? Do...uh you have bruises?”

“Are you asking for proof?” You asked, offended.

“No! Y/n, that’s not what I meant,” JJ tried but you already pushed past him and started grabbing stuff to leave.

“Y/n!-“

“Stay away from me JJ! You don’t have to worry about me anymore! You don’t have to care! I’m leaving!” You shouted, tears pouring down your face as you pushed away the one you loved.

“Where do you think your gonna go? Back there?” JJ suggested, trying to stop you.

“I’m- im not telling you.....I’m not telling you the worst thing about myself!” You said breathlessly.

JJs heart broke. He knew how you felt. But it was so extreme, he knew if you bottled it down you would feel worse.

“Come here,” JJ whispered, you looked at him, afraid.

Slowly, he got close and held her tight, as if she would fall through his arms.

She held him close, as if closing her eyes tight enough would make her forget about the world.

“It’s gonna get worse before it gets better. You’ve gotta talk to me. I’m not going to judge you, or blame you,” JJ assured.

You didn’t say a word, just hugged him. JJ was a good hugger.

“He just..he slapped me. That’s why there’s no bruises like you. He does it sometimes when we fight and my mom is out of town,” you admitted.

“But your mom is almost always out of town.” JJ sighed, knowing your hurting could happen a lot.

“I know. It’s bad. But like I said, you can handle it. So, I can too,” you argued.

“But...” JJ didn’t know how to phrase it, it was worse for you because you were a girl, and there was something sexual about it.

“...the bruises on your legs. And your ass,” JJ continued, his was seeking an explanation.

You sighed, “no, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Those are probobly just from sitting on rocks,” you lied.

JJ furrowed his brows, he hated the fact that you would lie to him. As a way of protecting him. He should be the one protecting you.

“Show me.” He demanded.

“W-what?” You stuttered, gripping tightly to the towel covering your body.

“Show me, please,” JJ added, he only wanted the truth. He didn’t want you to lie to him, or yourself.

“No. I’m sorry, but no.” You exclaimed, trying to get around him and away from this situation.

“Y/n. This is not a joke. Lift up your towel for me, baby. I’m not gonna hurt you,” JJ added, you couldn’t understand where he was coming from.

Why did he have to know?

You got lost in thought until you felt JJ steadily lifting the towel up gently. More of your thigh was visible and park of your butt cheek.

You were still in fear, watching JJ’s jaw clench.

“I’m gonna kill him,” he said softly, “I’m gonna fucking kill him,” he seethed.

You pushed his hands off, “you..you can’t.”

JJs eyes were wide, “what- well he should at least be punished Y/n! There is no way I’m letting him make a pass at you again,”

Your heart throbbed, “you don’t understand. This is why I never wanted to tell you,”

“You haven’t told me anything. And...and look...I get it. No one should have to go through what you’re going through, you’re so god damn strong. But, baby, staying quiet is not helping,” JJ explained.

Your throat felt as if it was closing, the thought of telling anyone haunted you, you shook your head, muttering no.

JJ pulled you in for another hug.

“I’m not going to rush you. But you’re not going back there, got it? You stay by my side, never leave,” JJ told you.

“She comes back tomorrow,” you sniffled.

Your mom.

“Y/n-“

“It’ll be fine. He’s usually nicer when she’s there,” you made an excuse.

“No way. Unless you’re gonna tell your mom, which I don’t think you’re ready for, your staying with me,” JJ said, closing the bedroom door that you were nothing in.

“Are you serious? What, so you’re my body guard now? JJ, don’t try to control me! You don’t even know anything!” You argued in frustration. Hating the feeling of being trapped.

“Because you don’t tell me!” He retaliated.

“Fine! I’m not telling anyone because he’s the best thing that’s ever happened to my mom! We’re basically fucking kooks now! It would break her heart. It would break us. And if he even has the slightest thought that we might tell, he’ll go to her first, and no one will believe me! No ones gonna believe me, over him.”

“I believe you. I’m here, Y/n/n. And you have proof, and you have me to back you up,”

“That’s not enough,” you sighed.

“Yes it is. I’ll show you. It’ll get better, I promise,”

You’ve never heard JJ say that. Ever. He never promises anything. Maybe once as a joke, but this was meaningful.

PART 3

Link to part one

-

as always, the topics discussed may be triggering. Please seek help if this is happening to you. Love you all so much. Have an amazing day.

[1rintooru]

hq!! boys and why you broke up

if love is supposed to feel good, then why does it hurt so much? Well, love isn't always easy... these are just the reasons why I think these boys would end up as the ones that got away... Part 1/x??

Starring: Oikawa Tooru, Hinata Shoyo, Kageyama Tobio, Tsukishima Kei, Lev Haiba and Suna Rintarou

a/n: plsss i made myself sad with this, so now i gotta pass it onto you rip😭💀 the characters are also completely random so this might end up having multiple parts... 👀

Oikawa: contrary to popular belief, I think Oikawa would care a lot for the relationship. If it isn’t volleyball that’s the major burden on the relationship, then it’s his insecurity. Truth is, he’s very fragile. It’ll become incredibly draining to have to constantly reassure him that yes, you’re happy in the relationship; yes, he’s enough; yes, you love him and no, you’re not cheating. He has a tendency to dump his problems onto you with this unsaid expectation for you to fix all his issues. It’s tiresome to constantly walk on eggshells in order to not hurt his pride while simultaneously not triggering his inferiority complex. It feels like you’re only there to repair him and you begin to feel more like his therapist. The relationship is very suffocating behind the picture-perfect façade he posts on his socials.

Hinata: it’s when his positivity turns toxic. He’s eager, ambitious and optimistic – almost to a fault. Hinata is incredibly uplifting and supportive on good days. Perhaps that’s because he believes there are only good days. Any mishap, misfortune or worry is something he’ll disregard and easily brush off. He won’t really understand your concerns or anxieties and he’ll only wonder why you can’t look on the bright side. His gentle remarks to “think positively” will turn impatient and annoyed as he tells you to “snap out of it” and “it’s all in your head.” This mindset might work for him, but it silences you and it’s a slow death for the relationship from there on out.

Kageyama: it’s an age old saying, but communication really is key in any relationship. It’s not that he doesn’t care – he does… he cares so, so much but it’s hard for him to find the right words. Kageyama struggles to communicate what he needs and wants and it often feels like a guessing game with him. He’s grown a lot since he went to Karasuno High, but certain traits still linger. He expects you to just know exactly what he’s thinking or how he feels with just how he looks at you. He’s too stubborn to be fully transparent and slowly resents how you aren’t able to read his mind. Things always work out in volleyball, why isn’t that the case here? Naturally, this is what drives a wedge into your relationship…

Tsukishima: you knew what you were getting yourself into when you started dating this salty brat. In the beginning the teasing was always fun and lighthearted but over time the light jabs would become more cutting. Your arguments are cruel and petty; he knew his words would hit a nerve since that’s why he would say them in first place. He’ll try and disguise it as a joke but you know that he meant what he said. It becomes hard to open up to him knowing that he might weaponize your insecurities against you. In the end, the relationship feels like a mean-spirited competition instead of solving your conflict.

Lev: god, Lev is just a child at heart, isn’t he? He has a big heart and an even bigger mouth. He’s a sweet talker but it doesn’t take away from the fact that he’s still pretty clueless when it comes to dating and relationships. You don’t want his flowers because you were the one who mentioned wanting them in first place. You don’t want to go on a date if it means you have to remind him every couple of days. Even smaller things, like reminding him to unload the dishwasher or to not mix colors and whites in the laundry become incredibly tedious over time. Dating him is truly like dating a golden retriever puppy. He isn’t interested in the boring stuff and Lev is just too much of a man-child to handle a serious adult relationship.

Suna: a classic case of right person – wrong time. It's as though you both just know you’re meant for each other, but things never really work out as planned. Perhaps neither was ready to commit to a relationship or the idea was intimidating; long-distance wasn’t appealing to either of you or you were in a relationship when he as single and he was stuck on his toxic ex when you reached out again. You have such a deep mutual respect and understand each other better than anyone else.  It's hard to be mad when you share such similar life experiences, but damn, it still hurts every single time when things don’t work out how they should.

[inomios]

Beauty behind the madness || levi ackerman x reader || PART I

Summary: “You knew that under all of his layers of grief and rage there was something worth loving; he knew that under your easy smiles and sweet words there was something dark lurking. He wanted all of you and you wanted all of him.”

Genre: Fluff, Angst

Words: 7,4K

TG: Brief allusion to soldiers’ suicides; little description of a panic attack on the seventh part (I can’t feel my face); brief talk about death and addiction; and even though I wrote it all using gender neutral terms, at some point I used the term girlfriend because partner sounded too cold for the situation.

-        If you are triggered by some content that I haven’t mentioned, please tell me so I can add it to the list and prevent it from happening again.

Author’s note: Mushing my favorite album with my comfort character is being so much fun. I’m enjoying so much this process you wouldn’t believe it. The second part will be up next Tuesday, and it’ll be the ending. Please, share, comment and like if you enjoyed, it would mean the world to see your reactions and impressions. As always, English is not my mother language, so sorry for the mistakes.

                                                          . . .

1. REAL LIFE

He had carved on his soul, heart and mind the words that Kenny had once told him, back when he was a scared and weak kid under his wing in the Underground, back when Kenny had caught him crying in the dead of night over his mother.

‘Boy, you won’t survive a day with that attitude. Your mother was a whore and now she’s a dead whore, get over it. You don’t have time to mop over her, crying is for people who have nothing more important to worry about.’

Kenny, for better or for worse, had taught him many lessons that became the key to his survival, advices he would never forget, and this was one of them: ‘Grieving is a waste of time.’

Every second he cried over his mother was time he could have spent granting his sorrowful existence. He couldn’t let his grief control him, because missing his mother wouldn’t make him last another day, she couldn’t protect him now that she was gone. So, for better or for worse, he let his sadness and rage aside and started focusing on what was important: survival.

Grieve is a tricky feeling, it makes you think you can control it, while it just keeps bottling up until it explodes, and you better be ready for when that happens, because you may not be able to fix the mess it’s going to leave behind.

Levi thought he had masqueraded his feelings pretty well, he tried to shrug everything off, as if nothing mattered to him, but it did, and Kenny knew it and he loved to tease him about it, he loved to press his buttons, Levi had learned that pretty soon in the relationship, but he was trying to handle his feelings, he wanted to prove Kenny he was worthy of his time, that he was strong, that  he wasn’t weak, not anymore. So, whenever Kenny tried to get a reaction out of him, he kept his mouth shut, but he couldn’t water down the fire in his grey eyes and Kenny could see it, he always could.

‘You are as worthless as your mother, maybe I should leave you in a brothel too, then you would be useful for something.’

A loud howling laughter.

Levi’s brow twitched.

‘Did your mom have time to teach you how to read or was she too busy fucking half the Underground?’

He thought he had said something hilarious. He bent over his back.

Levi had a little knife clutched in his hand.  He was starting to see red.

‘You’re as worthless as your mother.’

He was pushing him to his limits.

Levi had already passed them.

He liked to think that there was a dark abyss inside of him, a bottomless place where he could hide all his emotions and thoughts, they were useless, so he ignored them, he kept them away, far from the surface. Levi thought that he could detach from his pain, but it was a part of him, and if you stare into the abyss for too long, the abyss stares back at you. The Levi who grieved was still there, looking at him, the Levi who felt too much but said nothing wanted to get out, so he did, he escaped from the abyss and took control.

He run towards Kenny, eyes gleaming with unshed tears, knife in his hand, aiming for his heart, but Kenny was faster, quicker on his feet, he moved just in time. However, Levi still managed to scratch his shoulder, he teared his shirt and he could see the blood slipping, tainting the white fabric.

Kenny got mad. Levi had never seen him that furious. He grabbed his scrawny body and gave him the beating of his life. When he ended, Levi couldn’t even move, he was lying on the floor on a puddle of his own blood.

‘Listen kid, I don’t give a fuck about your shitty problems. You think you’re special? Guess what, you are a piece of shit, just like everyone else. Everyone here has issues, solve them or do whatever you want to do with them, but don’t you ever dare to pull a stunt like that again, because I’ll will leave you here to die, boy.’

That was the second lesson Kenny had told him: ‘Control is vital.’

He thought that by ignoring his feelings he was controlling them, but he was wrong, he realized that when those bottled emotions caused him to be bed ridden a few days.

Instead, he decided to let his feelings out in really calculated moments, he started to canalize all his rage into more productive stuff, like cleaning. He liked to think that by cleaning he had control over something, there was something cathartic to him in scrubbing floors, doing the laundry, and mopping floors. It was the Underground, it was filthy no matter how much effort he put into it, but it gave him something he could focus on, something he could use to let his frustrations out.

So, he cleaned, for his mother who deserved a better live.

For the innocent child that he once was, who had been stripped from everything he loved.

For Kenny, who he despised and was cruel and ruthless.

For all the things he had to do to survive.

He cleaned and cleaned, and he never had an outburst again. He was in control.

Looking back, he is sure that part of Kenny’s fury that day was that a kid made him bleed. You see, Kenny liked to think of himself as some kind of god, a ruler, someone who could control everybody, someone who was holding your fate between his calloused hands. And when he hurt Kenny, both of them realized two things, especially Levi, who discovered this: ‘Gods bleed to.’

Levi learnt his third lesson that day. No one could control him, the same way he couldn’t control anyone. You are the one who makes the decisions, just be sure to choose one you won’t regret. Kenny had no power over him, he wasn’t a god and if he was, Levi wouldn’t bow down to him.

Kenny learnt that Levi, that child, had a fire within he couldn’t tame, Levi wasn’t going to be a submissive, brainless follower. He had potential, he had willpower, he didn’t really need him, but the boy didn’t know it yet. So, when the moment came, he left. He had grown to care about his nephew, at least a little, but Levi was a survivor and Kenny knew he would fight with teeth and claws until the very end. Therefore, Kenny left him with the only person who could protect him: Levi himself.

When Kenny left him at his own, alone again in the Underground, he learnt his fourth lesson: ‘Love is a risk he wasn’t going to take again.’

  2. LOSERS

Stupid is next to ‘I love you.’ He was pretty fucking sure of that.

He made a bow to himself: he wasn’t going to love anyone ever again, people are bound to leave, and whenever they left, they took away a part of him, and he was already too broken for that. However, life happens, and it turns everything upside down, it doesn’t ask for consent, so his plan of never loving again was ruined sooner than he would’ve liked.

Furlan came first. He wasn’t looking for a companion, at all. A companion meant more people to care about, a distraction, and he didn’t need any of that. However, Furlan managed to convince him that he could be useful to him. Whenever he looks back, he thinks that both of them knew that Levi didn’t need anyone, he could survive on his own, he was tougher than anyone else in the Underground, but he was alone, so alone, and a part of him yearned so much for someone that he let Furlan come with him.  

Their relationship was weird at first, not sure where the boundaries of the other laid, what they could do or don’t. Furlan didn’t want to overstep and piss off Levi and Levi didn’t want to overshare with him, he didn’t want to show him his weaknesses, but at the same time he wanted to spend time with him.

He remembers that there were moments when Levi desired to say something, talk about pointless stuff, but he never did, after Kenny he was deprived of human contact that he even thought that he had lost his voice. However, as time passed them by, they fell into some type of routine, boundaries became clearer. Furlan started to get Levi, how he would never start a conversation no matter how bad he wanted; how his mind was always plotting something; how he always had an ace upon his sleeve… Furlan grew fond on him, he knew that there was a lot Levi wasn’t telling him, but from time to time he got to see a glimpse of all the man he was under his façade and layers of secrets, and he wanted to learn about him, he wanted to be his friend, he wanted to have someone to help and he wanted someone to take care of him, he wanted to stay.

On the other hand, Levi liked how Furlan seemed to know when he could talk and joke around and when he had to stay silent, it was like he understood him, Furlan was prudent and chill, thinking before acting, and he knew when to fight and when to give up. Levi started to care about him, a lot, against his better judgement, he just hoped he wouldn’t regret his choice.

Then, Isabel appeared on scene. Levi was happy enough with Furlan, he didn’t need someone else to worry about, that was more trouble, more chances to get hurt. However, he soon found he had a soft spot for the girl. She was so energetic, so bubbly, eyes always gleaming with hope, she was a ray of light in the darkest place. She was messy, reckless and wild, she balanced them out. When she asked to join them, Levi wanted to let out one of his characteristic ‘Tch’ and turn his back on her, there was no room for compassion in the Underground, but he couldn’t, he was weaker than he thought. He couldn’t leave her at her own knowing she could get herself killed, he didn’t want to be like Kenny, he wasn’t going to be like him.

The three of them became a gang, well, not just a gang, a family too. They looked after each other, they looked after Levi, just like his mother did. They were the best criminals in the Underground, and sometimes Levi felt like a god with the world at his feet. He shouldn’t have forgotten his third lesson: ‘Gods bleed too.’ He thought they were invincible, they weren’t, they were no gods, life wouldn’t bend at their will.

When Isabel and Furlan died, he didn’t even have proper bodies to bury, he just did two little makeshift graves and carved their name on the gray stone. He was the only person who would remember them, so he visited them at least once a week (he still does), mainly during his sleepless nights, when no one would ever question or notice his absence. Talking with them was the only reason why he hadn’t given up long time ago, he was their leader, he told them to always keep going, to never back down.

So, he kept going, for his mother, for Isabel and for Furlan. For the only people who ever loved him.

Maybe he didn’t really keep going, maybe he just let life pass by, what mattered was that he was alive and fighting for a purpose, he owed them that, their deaths wouldn’t be in vain.

Why did he always have to lose everything?

Why there was nothing good in store for him?

He was bound to lose to lose everything.

Stupid is next to I love you.

He was so fucking foolish.

3. TELL YOUR FRIENDS

The mission had been a carnage, a lot of fallen soldiers. He could still hear their screams and see the fear in their eyes, more images to haunt him while he was sleeping, as if they weren’t already enough. He couldn’t save anyone, he never could, he was human after all, even if some people thought about him like a god.

He had had a problem with his ODM gear during the mission, the gas cylinders were failing and wasting too much gas, so he ran out of it pretty quickly, which costed him a seven meters fall, breaking his right leg, his left arm, a few ribs and a concussion in the process. He could have died and a part of him wished he had, then, the pain would have ended. Luckily, Hange arrived just in time to help him, he still thinks that maybe they knew what was going on in his head, that he had thought about giving up right there, and that’s why as soon as they arrived back home, they sent him to the infirmary, not wanting to leave him alone. Hange still says it was because he couldn’t take proper care of his injuries by himself. They both knew he had had it way worse than that.

The infirmary was clean, and that meant a lot according to his standards, but your desk wasn’t, not at all and it was driving him crazy, if he could, he would get up and clean it himself. However, you seemed unphased by it, every day you would drop more documents on your table (but no document ever left, they just kept piling up); he had seen you drop coffee on some paper and not giving a fuck a single fuck about it; you had seven books on your table, none of them related with medicine, you just had them there because you wanted; and if you asked him what irked him the most, he would say the brush, you had a brush in your desk and it was full of hair. He couldn’t get his eyes of your desk, and if you ever noticed, you never did anything about it; or maybe you did notice and since you are a little shit, you just wanted to see how far you could go before he went feral. We will never know.

If you had been any other person, like one of the members of his squad, he would have said something way earlier, but you weren’t his subordinate, you were a medic and as far as he knew, he didn’t have the right to scold you at your own workplace.

You were competent, you just talked when necessary and you would always ask him if he wanted something, no matter how many times he had said ‘no’ and whenever Hange came to visit, you would always talk with them and ask them about their experiments and research. Hence, Hange thought you were the sweetest person ever, they had even told him that he better not be giving you any trouble.

You both had an easy routine. You would come in first hour in the morning, trying to be silent with no success at all, you were so noisy, luckily for him, he never sleeps more than four hours. You would sit on your desk and write a letter, every day, who the fuck had so many people to talk to or how many things worth telling did happen in your life? Then, you would go out to get him breakfast and you brought more documents with yourself, his breakfast always came with a cup of tea, a shitty cup of tea, but at least it wasn’t coffee or juice, he didn’t know if you were the one behind the tea, but if you were, he was glad you didn’t work on the kitchen. After breakfast, Hange would pay him a visit and talk with him, his squad would often visit him after training and Erwin once or twice a week, whenever his work let him a little free. At midday you would water the plants on the window, you had once called them ‘Asphodels’ and after watering them you disappeared, at the beginning he thought you just went to eat, later on, he would find why you did that. The rest of the day was the same, you wrote and read documents and he would either look annoyed at your desk or he would vert his gaze at the window to distract himself.

This routine changed the second week, because you asked him two questions that made him be more comfortable around you.

‘Why do you look at my desk as if it were making you sick?’

‘Tch, because is making me sick, it’s dirty as fuck.’

Okay, not the best words, but you asked, and he answered. He would be lying if he said he didn’t feel better after telling you. You blushed a little and scratched your neck bashfully.

‘Sorry, I can be a little messy sometimes.’

‘I can see.’

That day you spent the evening emptying your desk, any other person would have asked you not to bother, but Levi couldn’t care, after all, his last thread of sanity depended on that desk. When you finished cleaning, you asked the second question.

‘You hate my tea, but you drink it anyways, why?’

He felt his ears getting a little red, and he just shrugged and looked away.

‘You are taking care of me, didn’t wanna be a bitch about it.’

You smiled, a smile brighter than the morning star, and for a fraction of second he forgot how the breath, but he obviously didn’t say a thing about it.

‘I promise you that tomorrow you’ll have the best tea ever.’

‘Tch, if you say so.’

He appreciated your gesture, kindness wasn’t something he was used to, it felt weird and strange to have someone to do good things just for the sake of doing them, it made him wary, he would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought that maybe you wanted to get something from him and that’s why you acted so nicely around him.

The next day, after writing your daily letter, at your then clean desk, you brought him breakfast with a steaming cup of tea. He drank the beverage under your expecting gaze and to his surprise it was nice, not the best tea ever made, but definitely not the worst.

‘It tastes better.’

‘Thanks, this time I followed the recipe.’ You admitted proudly.

‘How the fuck were you even making tea before?’

‘Instinct?’

He looked at you astonished, how come you were a doctor, but you couldn’t follow a three-step recipe? At that moment he thought his health was in the hands of dumbest medic in the area, however, he didn’t really care, well, at least not as much as he would have expected. You had something, an aura around your persona, that was soothing and endearing, rather than infuriating.

At the crack of dusk on that same day, he was the one who asked a question.

‘Who are you always writing?’

For a moment he swears he saw your happy demeanor quivering, as if he had opened a cage that should have remained closed, but you quickly fixed, the funny glint coming back at your eyes as fast as it had left. It was in that moment when he knew that you weren’t as shallow as he may have deemed you to be.

‘I’m just telling my friends about this annoying patient I have. Do you know he made me clean my office desk?’

Your voice was laced with amusement, you were trying to divert his attention to another topic, and he knew, but he was no one to press you about it.

‘Well, as soon as I’m free, I’m telling my friends about how my medic is a fucking shitshow.’ Too blunt, but you brushed it off.

‘They sound like a nightmare.’

‘They are.’

You smiled, yet again as blinding as the sun.

He didn’t smile, he didn’t even grimace, his face was as stoic as always, but for a split of second, a smile nearly slipped in.

To his surprise, he actually talked about you to his friends. When he had the medical lease, the first thing he did was visit Isabel and Furlan’s impromptu graves and talk about you. It wasn’t a lot, he just mentioned you a few times. It didn’t mean a thing, and at the same time, it meant everything.

 4. OFTEN

It didn’t mean a thing.

Not a single thing.

It was unimportant.

He was like that with everyone.

Except he wasn’t and he knew it.

What the hell was wrong with him?

He would always find himself at your door, not because he was sick or harmed, he just felt the need to see you. He didn’t even talk with you that much, he wasn’t good at opening up or even small talk. He was foul-mouthed, snarky and his words could cut deeper than a knife. You were soft, kind, funny and there weren’t uncomfortable silences with you, your presence was comforting. Levi didn’t get why he felt that way about you, he barely knew you, but you had something that drew him in, maybe it was the normalcy you brought him. You were a doctor, you healed people, you tended their injuries; you hadn’t seen the titans, you hadn’t seen comrades die at their merciless hands, you didn’t know what was outside the walls and he liked that. You were an escape. It was as if his life was only centered around Titans and his existence had no other point but to kill or think about to kill Titans: Hange were always babbling about Titans; his paperwork was always a painful reminder of fallen mates; Erwin was always tracing missions and plans; and the whole point of his squad was training to defeat those beasts. He never had a break, but visiting you felt like it.

He knocked at your door and it opened, you were at your desk, which was an unorganized mess then again, humming some song he didn’t know while you were reading some medical reports. And the asphodels in the window looked beautiful as always.

‘Hi, Levi.’ You looked up and gave him a smile.

Your smiles.

Oh man, he took them in like a dehydrated man would savor the first droplets of rain.

He just nodded as a salute and walked towards the window to see the asphodels.

‘Why asphodels?’ he asked, you loved those flowers, and they weren’t necessary the most beautiful.

To him you were more like yellow lilies, he had read somewhere that yellow lilies meant joy and happiness. They always brought a simile to one’s face because they are the true depiction of the sun, just like you were.

‘I don’t know, they are special’ you said with a small voice, the same haunted look in your eyes, the same that appeared when he asked about your letters.

‘I guess they are.’

A comfortable silence fell in the room. He was getting used to these havens of peace.

That night at dinner, he was sitting next to Erwin, Hange in front of him, looking at him quizzically.

‘What’s going between you and y/n? You’re always at their place.’ They ask.

‘Tch, nothing, I just visit them often.’

Lies

‘So, there is no ulterior motive, like, I don’t know, our Short king having a crush?’ Levi sometimes forgot how punchable Hange’s face was.

‘No.’

More lies.

Something was going on, they both knew, but he was too scared to think about what it was.

 5. THE HILLS

Another fight. More deaths. What was the point of it? He felt like he was fighting for a pointless cause, the more deaths, the less they knew. He would have to send more letters to the families, telling them that their sons and daughters fought bravely until their last breath and sacrificed their lives for the sake of humanity. However, broken families would come to him and ask him if it was worth it, if the death of their children, cousins, brothers and parents brought them answers, if their deaths meant that humanity was closer to taste the freedom they longed for. He had always said that no death was in vain, but he was starting to question that.

He had barely seen you after the mission, he retreated to his quarters, drowning himself in reports and regrets, if he had been better, he could have saved more lives, but he wasn’t enough, he was no hero, he was a human. He had been fighting his whole life and he just wanted it to stop, he wanted peace and tranquility, not more deaths at his shoulders, no more ghosts to haunt him at the end of the day.

He never slept, at least not for more than a few hours. However, after a mission he didn’t sleep at all, the images of his comrades’ deaths still fresh on his mind, their screams still piercing his ears, his sanity vanished a little bit more every time he tried to close his eyes, so he just laid awake looking at the roof, thinking about all the things he could have done to save them, repeating their names as if he was asking for their forgiveness.

Sometimes it all got too much, and he needed to walk to clear his mind, there were nights when he walked for hours with no direction at all, but that night he did have a direction: your office. He didn’t really know why he was doing it, but he was too tired to turn back and ask himself why you. He thought that you would probably be asleep, but to his surprise there was a dim light coming from your office, so he knocked, just like all of those times before, and your soft voice told him to come in.

He had never seen you so disheveled and tired, dark bags under your eyes, traces of tears on your face and bloodshot eyes. He also noticed four new asphodels on your desk. He looked at them and then he looked at you. He wanted to ask, but he couldn’t, so you spoke.

‘My regrets follow you to the grave.’ He barely heard you.

‘What?’

‘That’s what asphodels mean, you asked me about them once, you remember?’

He nodded, that’s all he could do.

‘I couldn’t save them, I tried, but I wasn’t good enough.’ You broke down to tears.

He wasn’t good at processing his own emotions, let alone other people’s. What was he supposed to do? He knew that people hugged to show support, but as he would say, he was ‘emotionally constipated’, so he just stayed there, looking at you.

Do something.

Do something.

Do something.

But he remained stiff, it was like watching the scene happen in third person.

‘I’m sorry, I know this is making you uncomfortable, it’s just that it’s been a long day.’

‘It’s been a long day for me to.’ His voice was hoarse. ‘You told me that asphodels mean ‘my regrets follow you to the grave’, that’s why you have them? Because you feel guilty?’

‘I plant one for every soldier that dies on my watch.’ That was the first time you opened up with him.

‘I keep the badges of their uniforms.’ That was the first time he opened up with you.

Right then everything shifted.

‘It wasn’t your fault.’ He knew those feelings, the remorse and the guilt, he was so painfully familiar with them that they had become a part of his being.

‘It wasn’t your fault either, Levi.’

It wasn’t your fault either.

It wasn’t your fault either.

It wasn’t your fault either.

Your words echoed in his mind like a drum and for a moment he believed them.

You came closer and you wrapped your arms around him, he tried to respond, embracing you in strangely, you laughed at his antics and in that moment, he wanted to disappear. You smiled and you readjusted his arms around your waist. He brought you closer, slowly, not wanting to scare you away and break the moment. You laid your head in his chest, right above his heart, and he hoped you couldn’t hear his heart beating wildly. He hid his face in the crook of your neck, his breath tickling your skin and your smell intoxicating him. For a moment he felt like home, even though he didn’t understand what ‘being home’ meant, but it had to be very similar to that: comforting, reassuring, peaceful, safe.

That night, he spent what felt like hours holding you, until you had to part separate ways, the only witnesses were the asphodels and the hills at the distance.

  6. ACQUAINTED

What are we?

Levi couldn’t stop asking himself that question.

Friends didn’t have what you two had. Maybe he wasn’t the most amicable person, but he had had some friends in his life: he once had Isabel and Furlan when he was younger, and now he had Hange and Erwin, and maybe he could even consider his squad friends. And none of what he felt for them was like what he felt for you.

He tried to make sense of his thoughts by writing them, but words weren’t his forte and he just ended more and more confused.

You were nice.

You were beautiful.

You made him laugh, well, not laugh, but close enough.

You were kind.

He appreciated you, he cared for you and he wanted to protect you, but he also felt the same towards Erwin, Hange and his squad. Then, if it was the same, why it was completely different.

He kept visiting you, everything looked like it was the same, but everything had changed. It felt like the calm before the storm, as if something was about to happen, the tides were shifting, he could feel it. There were words unsaid lingering in the atmosphere and sooner or later, someone would have to utter them. But who? And if you spoke them, what would he say?

He also spent a lot of his time thinking about that too, if you happened to confess your feelings for him, if you had them, would he be able to respond them? Normal people would try, give it a shot and see what would happen, what the relationship had in store, let things flow; but he wasn’t normal, he was far from normal, he knew he wasn’t the easiest to love. He was rude, mean, a control freak, he wasn’t the one for big displays of affection, he was the last person someone would want as a partner. People yearned for epic love stories, something that could take your breath away and he wouldn’t be able to do that, he wouldn’t be able to give you the bare minimum.

Also, after all the people he had lost, he didn’t want your name to be added to that list. He preferred the uncertainty of your relationship than the possibility of losing you. If he left more people in, more people he could lose. He wasn’t stupid, he knew you were already in, but there were still boundaries between both of you.

He had also fantasized about laying himself bare in front of someone, share all of his trauma and memories, share the burden with someone, but who would love all of him? If he couldn’t even stand himself most of the days, how could he expect that someone would   do it?

‘If you were a flower, I think you would be a gladiolus.’ You would always blurt nonsense out of the blue, but for some reason, he found it endearing instead of annoying.

‘Tch, what’s even that supposed to mean?’

‘I don’t know, it’s just, gladius symbolize strength, generosity, faithfulness and I guess those are things I associate with you.’ Your cheeks were tainted with the softest tones of red and you weren’t looking at him, your gaze was fixed on your paperwork.

Those words had a way deeper meaning, he knew it and you knew it, it was as if you were testing the water by putting the tips of your feet in it. As per usual he didn’t know what to say, what was he supposed to say to that? Thanks? I think I may be falling for you?

‘Sorry, I made things weird, I should just-’ you couldn’t finish because he had started talking.

‘I think you would be a yarrow flower.’ Amazing, now he was the one talking nonsense.

Not so long ago he pictured you as yellow lilies, joy and happiness, but after getting to know you better, he realized that that description was too shallow for what you meant to him. He didn’t know a lot about flowers, he wasn’t really into botany, but he had heard about yarrow before, he had heard merchants inside Sina call them ‘plant doctor’, since they would be often placed near other plants to keep the pests away, he had also heard that it was considered invasive too, because how easily it spread. Therefore, the association came quickly to him, you were healing, a solace from the cruelty of his world; and you were invasive, because he couldn’t be away from you, you consumed him.

‘That means a lot.’ Your blush was now more pronounced now and he wondered what you had made out of his words.

He felt a wave of panic travel through his body, maybe that statement was too deep, maybe he screwed it all, so he decided to excuse himself and ran away from the situation he had created. He had told you he was going to his room, he lied, he was going to the library, he needed to see what his words had meant. He wasted all his evening looking for books about the meaning of flowers, he sure looked like a madman, he hadn’t even gone to the Mess Hall to have dinner, he needed to found answers, and he found them at two a.m.

“The secret language of flowers” said the title, he opened the book and he started looking for the yarrow’s meaning.

Healing and Good Health

Courage and War

Everlasting Love

When he read the last symbolism of the flower, his heart stopped for a whole minute, did he just declare his feelings, that he wasn’t ever sure of, to you? He wanted to disappear in the spot, just vanish into the air.

He went to his room, holding the book close to his chest. He spent the rest of the night reading the book, he wouldn’t mess up again, if he ever wanted to talk about flowers with you, he would be informed. When the sun rose, his head was buzzing with flower meanings, and he would be lying if he said that he hadn’t thought about you while reading some of them.

At breakfast he did go to the Mess Hall and took his usual place.

‘Where were you yesterday at dinner?’ asked Erwin.

‘With his girlfriend.’ Replied Hange with a big smile.

‘She’s not my girlfriend.’ He said with a grunt.

‘What are they then?’ Hange was using the tone, the one which meant “I know you’re hiding something, and I won’t stop pestering you until I discover it.”

‘We are just acquainted.’

‘Liar.’

 7. CAN’T FEEL MY FACE

He remembered how there were days when Kenny would drink himself to oblivion, Levi didn’t understand why he did it. He didn’t see the point of passing out in the floor, and when he asked, Kenny answered that ‘his vices kept him sane’. It still made no sense to him, how a man could be so cunning and sharp, while he wasted his nights and days with alcohol, women and many other things that Levi wasn’t interested on trying. He had seen Kenny drunk and it was far from having control. The first lesson Kenny had told him was that control is vital, then, how come he was powerless in his own life, letting alcohol take control of him.

‘You’re old enough to try it, boy. Take some if you want.’

The first time Kenny offered him alcohol, he had declined, he had said no, and Kenny had shrugged it off, as if saying: ‘more for me.’ He wouldn’t get it, it didn’t make sense, Kenny, who prided himself on his cold-blood and his steel nerves, would renounce to that control so easily, he didn’t want to be like that, never in a million years, he would never give up his self-control.

Until he did.

He had lost control. And he now understood Kenny.

He knew he should distance himself from you, he didn’t want more Furlan’s and Isabel’s, he was getting dangerously close to you and he didn’t want that. He should run away, disappear. You were kind and sweet, you would find someone else to feel the void he would inevitably leave. He had always been the one being left behind, and he survived, you would too. Also, it’s not as if he contributed a lot to your life. He was sure you both would be better with the other far away, I mean, the facts were there. Actually, they had been spiraling in his head for a while.

Then, if he knew all of that, why was he helping you cut clean bandages, especially so close to you that he could smell your shampoo? Oh yeah, because you asked him to, as easy as that, all his conviction melted away from every fiber of his body.

Why did he do that? Why was he so helpless around you? Oh yeah, because you made him feel so damn good. You had him wrapped around your finger and you didn’t seem to notice, you acted as if it was nothing, you had power over him, you had Humanity’s Strongest at his knees.

‘My family died a long time ago, I couldn’t save them, I moved in with my aunt and I decided that I’d study medicine for them.’ You said out of the blue.

You cut one bandage.

‘The letters I write are for them. It’s stupid, but it makes me feel closer to them.’

You cut another bandage.

He didn’t say a thing.

He hated himself, any other person would have hugged you or said something, he just stayed there, frozen and acting as cold as always. Why did you confide in him something so personal? He wasn’t the one to go when you are sad, he didn’t even know how to process his own trauma and baggage most of the time. What was he supposed to do?

On the other hand, you trusted Levi more than anyone in your life. He brought you peace and solace, something you thought you would never have.

You lost your family when you were really young, always feeling guilty for being the one who survived, and you promised to yourself you would vow your life to help the others, never putting your needs first. When you joined the military, you watched many soldiers die on your hands, you could still hear their last words, how scare they were, how they didn’t want to die like that, alone and far away from their family; you could also recall their mutilated bodies; and you could also remember how many of them would survive the Titans but lose the fights against their own mind and end up being another fallen soldier that died for nothing. You loved your job, but it also killed a part of you every day, there were no victories on a war, and you knew it. That’s why you picked up gardening, you planted a flower for every soldier who died, something to remember them.

When you met Levi, you admired him, you had heard the stories about him, his courage, mood changes, sharp tongue, skills, intelligence… You would be lying if you said he didn’t make you curious, you were used to soldiers haunted by the horrors they had faced, but something about him was different, maybe because you saw yourself in those grey eyes. You two were similar, you both had so much pent up that you could not talk about, you had an image to keep, and it was exhausting. He had a name to uphold, people looked up to him, if he failed, if he crumbled, everyone else would; you were a doctor, and no matter how hard things were, you had to be strong for your patients, never showing how much their pain took a toll on you. You could let your mask down, because even though he didn’t talk too much or overall understand why you were sharing that, it felt good, liberating.

Sometimes, he would also talk about him, not a lot, but enough to make you feel understood, and those moments, when he showed the man underneath the façade, glimpses of his true persona, those few minutes, sometimes even seconds, were responsible for your growing feelings for the captain.

‘It’s not stupid, I talk to my dead friends’ graves.’ He said nonchalantly, as if he wasn’t baring a piece of him in front of you.

Those kind of flashes of the man he was underneath took your breath away every single time.

You came close to him, slowly, testing the waters, not wanting to scare him away. Maybe it was too forward, too reckless, too much at a time, but he didn’t move. You brought your hand to his cheek. He didn’t jump away. You looked into his eyes, pools of mercury. He held your gaze, expecting your next move. You could feel the tension. He could too.

‘They would be really proud of you.’ You said, voice thin and trembling.

He was silent. Your words caught him of guard.

He was feeling too much. His heartbeat was erratic, beating wildly, he could hear it. He felt the blood boiling under his skin, he was so hot, he was sweating. He couldn’t move, but he felt his body trembling. He could feel the room closing on him, trapping him. He wasn’t in control.

It was a too familiar feeling, one he had experienced a thousand times before.

‘Levi, are you okay? I’m sorry I’ve made you uncomfortable.’ You said worriedly.

He didn’t know what to do, he just wanted the pain in his chest to end.

You were too close. You were trapping him too. So, he pushed you away from you and run from the infirmary. You couldn’t see him like that, no one could.

Why did he share that with you? Why did you get too close? Were you going to kiss him?

Why?

Why?

Why?

Why was he like that?

Why did he ruin things?

Why did he lose control of himself? He couldn’t even feel his face when you touched it.

He felt pathetic. He felt like the little kid he once was.

Control is vital.

Control is vital.

Control is vital.

If he was with you, he wasn’t in control. And if he lost his control, then he would have nothing.

He had to get away from you, because you were stripping him from the only thing he had: his control.

[ugh-againwiththenames]

So Many Fanfics So Little Time

This is just my list, I have seen so many (but if you want to use it it’s all yours too!).  I’m not a writer.  But I am a hell of a reader. Voracious one might argue. I just wanted to track my progress through the weeds of the absolutely never ending supply of Destiel and Cockles fanfic. 

Read on if you want to see what I’ve read, and what I’ve thought. I am but one person with opinions - some of them may be unpopular - some of them you might agree with, but if you find something you haven’t read here, I encourage you to do so. 

Honestly, this is just so I can track what I have read already, and when my friends ask, I can reference something easily. I have found some different fics on all kinds of ‘best of’ lists all over the interwebs. And I love recs - so rec away friends. 

As someone who reads a solid 40 novels a year typically, I don’t come by the “I read a lot” innocently. I do actually read a LOT.  When not reading fanfic (a new obsession, all things being fair), I usually read a lot of Fantasy/high fantasy, romance/erotica, and or YA (yeah, that was a bit of a ride no?).  So from this one might digress that I like fluffy, cute stories, complicated and supernatural/paranormal type stories, and I sure do not shy away from violence or smut (or maybe violence with smut? *smirk*). 

I have read all of these in the last 2-3 months (I will continue to add as I go). I had never read a fanfic until 2-3 months ago.  A lot of these wonderful people are on here, and I mean you no offence by not directly tagging you - I’m still learning how to actually properly use this site. Links to AO3 are included (and I love you all). 

These aren’t necessarily in any real order - I did read T&S first, followed by 91W, and 4LW...after that it’s just a shit show of Long or Short, Destiel or Cockles - smorgasbord. Some of these are the most popular Fics out there, and others I’ve never seen recc’d anywhere (just sort of accidentally happened upon them).  So let’s get to it, shall we? 

Twist and Shout - ok look. I understand the stigma associated with this one, but it was the FIRST one I read. It was the ball that shot me down the hill, and I haven’t stopped since. So. I loved it. I CRIED like a baby. SOBBED. It was not the quality of the writing but the way the story was developed and delivered. I have Never Cried Like This Reading a Story IN MY LIFE. It’s a rite of passage. Read It and have an opinion - it doesn’t need to be mine.  

Author(s): gabriel, standbyme   https://archiveofourown.org/works/537876/chapters/955188

Ninety-One Whiskey - aka 91W, it is mentioned so much, and is SO worth the read.  I continued my dive into the war fics (not typically my bag really and here I was reading 2 in a row).  There are a couple of followup stories as well to this series (and yes, I’ve read them all).  Although I’ll say that the original is my favourite. I often got lost in a bit of the War/Tactical descriptions, but would recommend it to anyone anyway. Ugh...the “stolen moments”...they were at the same time tragic and the most amazing things ever.  You feel me? no? go read it. 

Author:  komodobits   https://archiveofourown.org/works/2362190/chapters/5214500

Four Letter Word for Intercourse - aka 4LW.  OMG just, OMG. I loved this story. I loved it so much. I think I read it in a day.  Devoured it. It’s so HOT. Just read it. If you haven’t you’re missing out.  LEMME AT IT. I loved “knowing the secret”, and had some major anxiety about that realization dawning (I had to take a breath, and be like, no, no, this is gonna be a mess, but it’s gonna be SO GOOD - I was not disappointed).  There’s more than one work here too - read them all. PLEASE. 

Author: bendingsignpost  https://archiveofourown.org/works/16086839/chapters/37568591

Memories Bring Back Memories (Bring Back You) - This was the first Sobs one I read, but it sent me on a spree.  this is the Memory Loss one.  I have one piece of advice here - read everything by Sobsicles. You can thank me later...just go to her page, and fucking sort to supernatural (or not, read it all!) I’d list them but I’d fucking seriously be here all day.  Also, her tags make me laugh so hard.

Author:  sobsicles https://archiveofourown.org/works/24022945/chapters/57796885

Orpheus - I love this one too, Tattooed!Cas, my LOVE. paired with Mechanic!Dean, my HEART, #help.  Read this one in one evening as well. (I was on a roll).  It’s a one night stand that turns into more (much like my last relationship)....hmm...maybe this is why I was pulled in - although to be fair that is the last similarity to my shitty love life! I do not remember how I stumbled onto this one (tattooed Cas may have been the draw...tbh). Read the warnings though, there is some triggering stuff in this one - but if you can handle it, it’s definitely worth the read. 

Author: sysrae       https://archiveofourown.org/works/2364347/chapters/5220227

Have Love, Will Travel - Can you say no to Stripper!Dean? Cause I sure as hell cannot. Typical sort of character development here with Dean having trust issues, and Cas being painfully awkward...(but in like a super cute way?).  Would Recommend. 

Author: squeemonster   https://archiveofourown.org/works/565455/chapters/1011747

The Inexhaustible Silence of Houses - Change of pace here...It’s got a nice twist.  I didn’t actually clue into how it was going to end until very near the end (maybe I was being oblivious), when the realization came over me and I was...man. I was DONE IN.  I hope that doesn’t spoil (I need some kind of way of remembering them). Voiceless!Cas Hunter!Dean

Author: Askance (doomcountry)   https://archiveofourown.org/works/560268/chapters/1000755

Adagio - This is super short, and super cute. Honestly, I would read the whole thing just for the last line. It’ll take you less than an hour if I remember correctly. Go, I’ll wait. I squeeed. did you? 

Author: noangelsinthegarrison   https://archiveofourown.org/works/1397248/chapters/2928145

Any Little Heartache - super easy read (not in a bad way, but in a ‘you’ll fly through it’ way).  It’s mid-length, not graphic, but really fun hospital AU. HeartSurgeon!Dean / Nurse!Cas - enemies to lovers anyone? Fuck you to Fuck me? yeah. YUM. 

Author: followthattardis https://archiveofourown.org/works/5143376/chapters/11838311

Ad Astra - This is another short(ish) one, just one chapter.  And by that I mean that this is written like a very long poem. Cas as a star who has visited Dean many times over the years of his life, that culminates in 4x01 barn scene. It’s ‘awe’ sad. ‘puppy dog eyes’ sad. The writing format took me a bit to understand what was happening - it’s my lack of poetry knowledge, not the writing.  

Author: nhixxie https://archiveofourown.org/works/1013491

Ad Astra Per Aspera - This is a cute story.  ESL writer, no judgement.  I found this while looking for the one above, and thought the premise looked cute - and it was. Misunderstanding leading to Dean realizing he’s actually Bi.  Miscommunication leading to realization.  

Author: Riverchester https://archiveofourown.org/works/12354336/chapters/28101816

Psalm 40:2 - Time travel post-canon Cas and Pre-series Dean.  If you’re wondering how that works, strap in for this ride, it’s well worth it. 

Author: unicornpoe https://archiveofourown.org/works/30786425/chapters/75992444

Addicted to You - Warlock!Dean/Incubus!Cas - accidental ‘mating’ (I actually really don’t like that word, but there’s sort of no avoiding it in this situation). Cute story.  When you drunk dial a succubus and get an incubus instead...Whatever will we do? 

Author: Ltleflrt https://archiveofourown.org/works/4387346/chapters/9959288 

A Glimpse Beyond - End Fix-it. Not yet complete, 10 chapters so far...I want MORE! Reliving memories Dean/Cas & Sam/Eileen.   

Author: NorthernSparrow https://archiveofourown.org/works/27731689/chapters/67875925

Cas-ti-el - Please I want more...It’s like the story just started. Please write more of this story!! 1 chapter, it’s a trope prompt challenge, but I want it to be a full on story of its own. Imprinted names of their soul mates, Dean doesn’t understand his (because it’s in a different language)...I’m frustrated by wanting this story to keep going. 

Author:  Valinde (Valyria)  https://archiveofourown.org/works/1941591

Our Bodies, Posessed by Light - another short one. Not going to lie, this one took a little getting used to, and I can’t say that I enjoyed it too much for the sole purpose that the premise gave me the willies.  Cas has to vessel jump - ends up in Sam...I got through it, it had a good ending, but yeah, sorry. This just wasn’t for me. 

Author:  obstinatrix  https://archiveofourown.org/works/260289

Peanut Butter Pumpkin Wedding Cake - Waiter!Dean / Writer!Cas - This is so effing cute, just misunderstanding after misunderstanding bumbling around like the couple of dorks that they are. It’s only one chapter. 100% would recommend. 

Author:  Sparseparsley https://archiveofourown.org/works/223962

Destiel, Actually - This is another super cute story, 5 chapters. Gabriel playing a singular role in putting Dean and Cas in awkward positions to push them together.  I fucking DIED at “oh, I am the sub” - needs context, but I guarantee you that you’ll laugh out loud...

Author:  Bexism  https://archiveofourown.org/works/399934/chapters/658398

The Smell Before the Rain - This was my first A/B/O - a big apology to all those who are into mpreg and whatnot, this was my lesson that I am not. this was not for me. Also - I’m a firm Cas (Alpha/Dom) believer, and i’m good with switch Cas, but it’s hard for me to take him being the full Omega here, when paired with the rest I just couldn’t do it. I finished it, but, not my thing. I know now. 

Author: jscribbles https://archiveofourown.org/works/22355230/chapters/53406127

Crazy Diamonds - This is another short one, only 3 chapters - it’s a body swap for Dean, 4x02 him and 2018 him swap places (assumption that 2018 him is “with” Cas).  It’s a super cute little story. 

Author:  pantheon_of_discord https://archiveofourown.org/works/16151642/chapters/37738631

The Breath of All Things - Wheelchair!Dean / Volunteer!Cas.  This is a lovely story, typical Dean self-hatred etc. Triggering for those with suicide warnings. It had me in tears at the end. There’s a really spectacular quote near the end that I found so romantic I screen grabbed it. 

Author:  KismetJeska https://archiveofourown.org/works/994750/chapters/1967519

Kind of a Forever Deal - SummerCamp!AU This is just a really cute and fluffy summer camp AU.  Which is so different from 91W (That’s right, check the author)! I was a little disappointed with the ending, but otherwise really enjoyed this all the way through and was loving all the discovery and young characterizations of all the characters. 

Author: komodobits https://archiveofourown.org/works/999291/chapters/1978478

Everytown, USA - Best way I can break this one down? Wanderer!Dean (listless and without a place in the world, he ends up in a small town...), Twin!Cas (that leads to some fun things). There are a number of points where you’re gonna yell at Dean for doing stupid shit (that are very much in character for him to do), you think, well, yes, obviously you’re going to do that you silly fucking boy [affectionate]; but whyyy? (but we know). 

Author: aileenrose https://archiveofourown.org/works/1797559/chapters/3854836

Chalk and Chainmail - HighSchool!AU, Cas is an artist, Dean LARP’s - it’s cute and angsty. 

Author:  lemonsorbae https://archiveofourown.org/works/804704/chapters/1517551

A Little Patience - Ok. you want smut? This is your story. You want Kink? This is your story.  I actually did not finish this. It got a little carried away in my opinion. It was VERY panty kink oriented (which, while essentially canon isn’t really my kink) so, if you want that Panty Kink on full display? Go forth and enjoy! it  is thirty something chapters, I got to the mid-twenties I Think. 

Author: riseofthefallenone https://archiveofourown.org/works/1750058/chapters/3739232

Control - I REALLY ENJOYED THIS. Which is saying a lot for someone who has already admitted that a Subby Cas isn’t really my HC - so to so thoroughly enjoy a Sub!Cas story? (maybe it’s the tattooes...*wink*). It’s an AU where Cas is the head of a company - Dean is a callboy I guess, for lack of a better term. Just read it.

Author: dothraki_shieldmaiden  https://archiveofourown.org/works/31156601/chapters/76993217

More (I copy pasted the next lot from my google doc, I’ll flush them out later - no i wont...)

Teach Me (short) - movie night in the bunker, things get a little carried away   Author:  Chiyume  https://archiveofourown.org/works/5961327

You Light the Spark (in my bonfire heart) (short) - when cas doesn't realize that dean is unaware of his feelings, super short, super cute                      Author: noangelsinthegarrison https://archiveofourown.org/works/1193910 

Communication Breakdown (short/cockles) - dean ends up in Jensen's head while he films the confession scene, no sexual content Author: jujubiest   https://archiveofourown.org/works/29669601/chapters/72951339

Look What You Made Me Do (short/cockles) -      -  Vegas Con 2020 / jensen comes out with a song     - cute short - no sexual content Author:  green_blue_heller https://archiveofourown.org/works/30251592 Full House (short/cockles) - reimagined version of the rented house story - putting it in order (so to speak). funny / cute / fluffy not explicit   Author: n_nami  https://archiveofourown.org/works/30855827

Cyber Sex (short/cockles) - anastiel https://archiveofourown.org/works/31467086      - shameless post GISH Fest zoom call porn      - Short (very short)

It's Complicated (cockles) - gail_morgan https://archiveofourown.org/works/31434938/chapters/77747519       The GISHtake (short/cockles) - MellyCrazyCoconut https://archiveofourown.org/works/31508099     - cute short post GISH zoom     - oops "babe, really?"  

(10.02.2021 updated) Since last update: New reads - Fuck i’m gonna be here all day - there’s not gonna be as much gonna be NO detail in these breakdowns...sorry! This has now just become a “what i’ve read list” as opposed to a Rec list...

Love, All Alike (Pt. 1 Love, All Alike) - Phantoms_and_Foxgloves   https://archiveofourown.org/works/4555599/chapters/10370646                             - Though The Stars Walk Backward (pt 2 Love, All alike) - Phantoms_and_Foxgloves

And this, your living kiss - opal_bullets   https://archiveofourown.org/works/18083927/chapters/42744872

Come On, Let's Strike a Match (Domination and Submission: a love story pt 1) - anyrei & queerwerewolf ***   https://archiveofourown.org/works/25722478/chapters/62458810    - Playing With Fire (D&S: a love story pt 2)    - We Kiss and the Flames Get Higher (D&S: a love story pt 3)     - Sparking That Old Flame (D&S: a love story pt 4) 

Cinderwings - bendingsignpost Cinderella!AU**   https://archiveofourown.org/works/12847041/chapters/29336421

Linden - fleeceframe Swan!AU**   https://archiveofourown.org/works/33126730/chapters/82236118

No Netflix, No Chill (short) - dorian_they   https://archiveofourown.org/works/28764966

Can't Drink You Away (short) - dorian_they   https://archiveofourown.org/works/28785792 

Jensen Totally (Does Not!) Snore (short RPF) - Dorian_they   https://archiveofourown.org/works/30315717

Dean Ships It (short) - dorian_they   https://archiveofourown.org/works/30349434

All about control - wingless   https://archiveofourown.org/works/9151930/chapters/20791243

Aesthetics in Autoerotica (pt 1 Aesthetics in Autoerotica) - relucant   https://archiveofourown.org/works/3885544                                                             - The Ties that Bind (pt 2 Aesthetics in Autoerotica) - relucant

Let's take a drive - sobsicles   https://archiveofourown.org/works/32581027/chapters/80819581 

Enchanted ink - castielslostwings TattooArtist!Dean TattooArtist!Castiel AU ***   https://archiveofourown.org/works/23043622/chapters/55109530

The bones beneath our skin - darknessbound   https://archiveofourown.org/works/24633754/chapters/59515804

The Plot (RPF) - Castiel_Left_His_Mark_On_Me   https://archiveofourown.org/works/2795588/chapters/6274970

The Gentle Force with which you Take Me (RPF) - Phoenix_Ascended   https://archiveofourown.org/works/32110120/chapters/79549183

According to all known laws of Life (Pt. 1 Cursed Metaphors) - sobsicles   https://archiveofourown.org/works/29207901                                                          - and he's back (with a mind of his own) (pt. 2 Cursed Metaphors) - sobsicles

Six hundred sundays (and many more) - sobsicles   https://archiveofourown.org/works/31158776

Aching in the Absence of you - sobsicles   https://archiveofourown.org/works/31832977/chapters/78811378

gorging myself on you, still can’t get full (insatiable) (Short) - sobsicles   https://archiveofourown.org/works/32203291

memories bring back memories (bring back you) - sobsicles   https://archiveofourown.org/works/24022945/chapters/57796885

Dream Come True (short) - bendingsignpost   https://archiveofourown.org/works/28071159

tall grass - aeli_kindara   https://archiveofourown.org/works/13127040/chapters/30030726

asunder (Short) - rageprufrock https://archiveofourown.org/works/62115

Apheresis - bendingsignpost BloodDonor!AU **   https://archiveofourown.org/works/32674783/chapters/81056680

we always were but never knew it - frightfullyrude   https://archiveofourown.org/works/32698324/chapters/81119503

In this Louisiana Bar (Short) - fleeceframe   https://archiveofourown.org/works/31764487

The Hitchhiker's Guide to Alternate Universes - n_nami   https://archiveofourown.org/works/32687929/chapters/81092785

my heart a compass - lagaudiere https://archiveofourown.org/works/28629951

Unsound Inverses - sp8ce (not complete)   https://archiveofourown.org/works/29836881/chapters/73413300

The Jensen Mistake (RPFish) - fellshish   https://archiveofourown.org/works/31950169

tell me about the dream (Pt. 1 Kids are coming home) - playedwright   https://archiveofourown.org/works/27984813/chapters/68544450

It's handy to know (FIMMF Themed ;)) - RosaMarloes   https://archiveofourown.org/works/31761322

So Says The Sword - komodobits AngelTrueform!AU**   https://archiveofourown.org/works/12597892/chapters/28695592

Communication Breakdown (RPFish)- darkshrimpemotions (jujubiest)   https://archiveofourown.org/works/29669601/chapters/72951339

Carry You Home - Casloveshisfreckles   https://archiveofourown.org/works/26982637/chapters/65862916

In the Shadow of your Wings - Enochian Things (Salr323)   https://archiveofourown.org/works/7531294/chapters/17121655

When Harry Met Sally (RPF) (Pt. 1 When Harry Met Sally ‘verse) - mnwood   https://archiveofourown.org/works/7622347/chapters/17351845    - Eight Dildos (RPF) (Pt. 2 When Harry Met Sally ‘verse) - mnwood    - Attention, Please (RPF) (Pt. 3 When Harry Met Sally ‘verse) - mnwood             - Boat Trip (RPF) (Pt. 4 When Harry Met Sally ‘verse) - mnwood

A Winter's Tale - NorthernSparrow   https://archiveofourown.org/works/2654327/chapters/5930561

A Close Shave - NorthernSparrow https://archiveofourown.org/works/3090167

r/supernatural - renrub (short) https://archiveofourown.org/works/27626783

sam reads destiel fics - rebshome (short - funny!)   https://archiveofourown.org/works/33721624

Angel Cookies - noxsoulmate Chirstmas!AU **  https://archiveofourown.org/works/11729640/chapters/26427765

Under The Midnight Sun - NorthernSparrow Arctic!AU **   https://archiveofourown.org/works/16690645/chapters/39143677

Bron-Yr-Aur - mrbluesky (Short) https://archiveofourown.org/works/28225335

The Dean Winchester Beat Sheet - saltyfeathers   https://archiveofourown.org/works/19258594/chapters/45800209

The Meaning On My Skin - saltnhalo   https://archiveofourown.org/works/18005378/chapters/42538133

Red Right Hand (Pt. 1 Murder Ballads)  - Duckyboos   https://archiveofourown.org/works/4306110/chapters/9760008    - Are you the One that I've been waiting for? (pt. 2 Murder Ballads) - Duckyboos   

Riptides - sharkfish   https://archiveofourown.org/works/13230426/chapters/30263556

Damn Fine Ride - Cimorene105 (pt 1 - rodeo) Cowboy!AU** (I’m a horse girl, sue me...)  https://archiveofourown.org/works/14342340    - My Face Just Does This, Sometimes - Cimorene105 (pt. 2 rodeo)    - The Kinkiest Thing I've Ever Done- Cimorene105 (pt 3 rodeo)    - All Signs Point to Love - Cimorene105 (pt. 4 rodeo)    - Monster Love - Cimorene105 (pt. 5 rodeo)    - My Man, The Siren - Cimorene105 (pt. 6 rodeo)    - A Pain in My Ass - Cimorene105 (pt. 7 rodeo)

Astrolabe (terra incognita pt 1) - reluctantabandon, Winter_of_our_Discontent   https://archiveofourown.org/works/3348812/chapters/7326794    - Drollery (terra incognita pt 2) - reluctantabandon Winter_of_our_Discontent    - Rubrication (terra incognita pt 3) - reluctantabandon Winter_of_our_Discontent

Go Down With This Ship - PorcupineGirl   https://archiveofourown.org/works/8023642/chapters/18370474

Fire and Ice - Castielslostwings (Firefighter/Paramedic AU!) **   https://archiveofourown.org/works/23286295/chapters/55768486

The Structural Similarities of Hunters and Onions - Faster_Than_the_Speed_of_Sound (Short)   https://archiveofourown.org/works/33383101

Castiel Novak's Office, This is Dean - emmbrancsxx0   https://archiveofourown.org/works/22411336/chapters/53545840

Out of the Deep (out of the deep pt. 1) - riseofthefallenone - MERMAID AU! **   https://archiveofourown.org/works/548878/chapters/977676

Dean (and Cas') Top 13 Zepp Traxx - pantheon_of_discord   https://archiveofourown.org/works/10909440/chapters/24256989

I'll Be Good - LittleAngelCassie   https://archiveofourown.org/works/4118334/chapters/9282234

Kenosis - CastielsCarma (Short - part of Destiel ABC collection)   https://archiveofourown.org/works/30411720

[rosaliestark01]

Dusk Till Dawn - Part 8

Peter Parker x Reader

Summary: You play double agent while the Avengers search for you.

Warnings: more swearing than usual, angst, violence

A/N: @annies-marvel-imagines will no longer be posting more parts, but she will still receive credit.

You paced around Ezekiel's secret hideout and realized several things. The first thing is that there was no way that these two individuals managed to get their hands on such high-level tech by themselves. The second was that Ezekiel obviously lied about being your dad. The third was that Ezekiel most definitely had enough money to get a less crappy apartment. The fourth and most crucial thing you realized was that you'd have to play along with their plan longer than you wanted to.

Judging by the number of meals you've gotten, you'd guess you've been there for three days. It was hard to pretend that you wanted to wipe out the Avengers, but you had to remind yourself that this was just another mission. Except, you didn't have your suit or any means of contacting your team. Plus, the Avengers had no idea where you were, what you were doing, or what you were trying to do. You were on your own.

"Don't just stand there, you spoiled brat. Help us out," Eloise yelled at you.

Another thing that made it hard to act like you were on their side was the constant feeling of wanting to strange Eloise every time she opened her mouth. She honestly reminded you of a penny. Two-faced and not worth much.

"What the hell is this thing?" you ask as you approach the strange metal box that Eloise and Ezekiel had struggled to get out of Ezekiel's truck.

"You like it?" he asks, causing you to furrow your eyebrows. Was this guy serious?

"Did your ears suddenly stop working, or are you just that bad at listening to someone else's shit for once?" You say without thinking. The strange looks from them tell you that it was the wrong thing to say, so you backtrack. "Sorry, I'm still a little nervous about all this."

"It's fine," Ezekiel mutters, coughing awkwardly before becoming grave. "As long as you do your job, you have nothing to worry about."

"What's that supposed to mean?" You ask, suddenly becoming defensive.

"This is your new suit." Eloise snarks, clearly trying to get everyone's attention back onto the metal box. She pressed a button, causing it to open.

Inside was a suit that looked similar to your dad's iron suit, but instead of red and gold, it was black and purple.

"Why does it look like that?" You ask. Why would they base the suit off of Iron Man's suit if they hate his guts?

"We figured you'd like an upgrade," Ezekiel beamed proudly. You're assuming that he was the one who built it, but you weren't ready to jump to conclusions. The guy already had trouble figuring out how to open the microwave. "Your old suit seemed..."

"weak," Eloise rolled her eyes as she finished his sentence.

"It was flexible and bulletproof," you defended. The suit you always wore worked well for years. Who do these people think they are? "I made it with my d- with Tony Stark."

"That explains a lot." She crosses her arms as she stares down at you with a judgmental glare. "Trust me. If you're going up against the Avengers, you're going to want to wear this. It'll protect you better than that flimsy piece of shit you always wore before."

"Fine," you mumbled, remembering that it is in your best interest to pretend that you agree with them.

--------------------

Peter felt like he was drowning.

He'd never gone this long without knowing if you were okay or not, and it was killing him. Without you, his Peter-Tingle, or Spidey-Senses as you called it, felt like a timer he couldn't shut off. He wasn't sure if it had to do with the fact that he was worried out of his mind or if it meant that you were in danger. Maybe both?

What was worse was that he had to pretend everything was okay. Happy was in the hospital, you were missing, and the Avengers were moving heaven and Earth to find you, but he couldn't join them. May and the Avengers insisted that he let the "adults" handle this. Did it ever occur to them that you matter to him just as much, if not more?

"Hey, Pete?" Ned and the rest of your friends approached him hesitantly. They all worried about you, but they knew that it was harder on him. "Is there any update on Y/N?"

"Not yet." Peter would have known if there was even a slight update. "Have any of you heard anything?"

"Gwen feels guilty about what happened at homecoming," Harley states ."She says that if she hadn't spilled her drink on Y/N, she never would have left the gym."

They all look to where Gwen was standing with her friends. She didn't look happy. In fact, she looked like she hadn't slept since word got out that you were missing.

"She should feel guilty." Peter huffs, "If she got over her damn pettiness long enough to realize that I love Y/N, I never would have lost her."

"Still... she said she'd back off," Harry says, feeling uncomfortable with the current subject. There is no excuse for what Gwen did, but she did look like she had learned her lesson.

"We want to help," Betty admitted, causing a bit of hope to fill Peter's mind. So far, all he's heard was "let the adults handle this". Knowing that his friends want to help find you was like a breath of fresh air.

"Yeah. It doesn't feel right to sit back and do nothing when Y/N is who knows where," Harry sighs, patting Peter on the back.

"Thanks, guys," Peter replies, smiling for the first time since you've disappeared. "That means-"

Before he could finish, he turned around, and not a second later, an explosion went off right across from the school.

"What the f-"

----------------

"I still can't wrap my mind around the fact that you never told us that Y/N was adopted," Clint says as he paces back and forth in the compound. He didn't have the slightest idea that anything was going on until he received a call telling him that you were missing and that help was needed tracking you down.

"He had his reasons; now are you going to focus more on that or finding Y/N?" Pepper replied, defending Tony. Although she agrees that Tony should have told you, she knows that he had his reasons.

"Maybe she doesn't want to be found?" Clint asks, although the second it came out of his mouth, he knew it sounded stupid.

"No," Steve says, his arms crossed in concentration. "I've known Y/N for a long time, and she's a good kid. She's going through stuff right now, but she'd never run away or leave Happy alone while he's in the hospital. Something else is going on, and I'd bet it had to do with those two."

The TV displayed everything they knew so far. The two likely suspects were none other than Eloise Day and Ezekiel Stane. Security footage showed you getting into Eloise's car, which was later found outside a shambly apartment building. After further inspection, your phone was found inside of the apartment belonging to Ezekiel Stane.

"Agreed". Tony stared at the screen, trying to figure out if there is anything he's missing. He knows that Ezekiel is the son of his old business partner. Tony knows that Eloise was a new student who gained your trust. What he didn't realize was their connection and what their goal is.

"If-When we find her, you need to tell her the truth," Steve tells him.

"Yeah, we'll go out for cheeseburgers and laugh about it. Am I right?" Tony snaps. It was clear that he knew who your real father is and that you might already know him too. "I- I don't want her to hate me when I tell her."

"Trust me. Y/N will understand if your heart was in the right place," Steve encourages, placing a hand on Tony's shoulder. For a second, Tony's shoulders slump before his resold seems to harden.

"Her real dad is-"

"I think you'll be able to tell her yourself," Nat speaks urgently. "Y/N's been spotted in Queens."

"Let's suit up."

-------------------

You couldn't help but feel as though your plan was about to fail. Eloise and Ezekiel have recently kept a closer eye on you than usual, which isn't good. You have a feeling that they're on to you, which means that you might have to improvise.

"Play along," Ezekiel mutters in your ear before roughly grabbing your arm. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Eloise pointing some blaster at you that looks too much like the one that Hydra dude shot you with.

Before you can ask what he was doing, a familiar figure swung in front of you.

"Let her go," Peter demands. Although you cannot see his face, you can tell he's angry. You felt bad for putting him through this, but in the long run, you'll have to put him through it a little longer.

"Fat chance, you spider freak!" Eloise roars, suddenly pointing the blaster at Peter.

"Wait-" You yell, but your voice is drowned out by Ezekiel's yells as Eloise pulls the trigger.

It was like everything was happening in slow motion. You wanted to scream for Peter, but the shot never made it to its target. Instead, it met with a familiar red, white, and blue shield.

"Whatever happened to my signal?!" Ezekiel yelled at Eloise, who rolled her eyes for the one-hundred-millionth time that day.

"I'm not letting you crap on my chance again, old man!" She barks at him as she continues firing the blaster. By now, all of the Avengers seem to have shown up, and her target was everyone.

"Don't you d-" He yells, but she ignores him.

Cursing, he tries to pull you away from the fight as he tries to think of a new plan. You already knew what needed to happen, but you weren't sure if you were ready to see everyone's faces when you are forced to betray them.

"So is this a thing now? Kidnapping my daughter for revenge or something?" your dad asks as he lands in front of you and Ezekiel, ready to fight.

"Who said I kidnapped her?" Ezekiel smirks. You wanted to wipe the arrogance off his face, but you couldn't. You had a job to do.

"Dammit," You curse. You press the button on your bracelet that morphed into your "new" suit. You didn't want to see the looks everyone will give you, so as you took down the people you call your family, you couldn't look them in the eye.

TAG LIST:

@eridanuswave @perspectiveparker @spidey-reids-2003 @ilovespideyyy @purplekitten30 @slytherinambitious @starryeddie @grapesauze @elephants-bubbles-brachosauruses @thegayseance @whiskeywinter89

[jostepherjoestar]

Hii! Lá squadra with a maladaptive daydreamer teammate? Always pacing and always daydreaming ab smth. Talking to themselves and stuff. (sorlato included) thank u so so much ❤️

La Squadra and their maladaptive daydreamer teammate HC’s

Oh this was very interesting to think about, and to be honest a challenge to La Squadra’s capabilities of understanding others and their ways of being. Enjoy 💖✨(i’ve put this in a more positive? situation since it’s an actual disorder and i’m not sure anon meant it in that sense, not all daydreams can be good ones though. Take care my friends ☺️)

CW: maladaptive daydreaming that impacts daily and work life

also sorry if there’s mistakes, i barely edited, this was written before my mental auwchie that i’m working through rn!

Risotto

Risotto is one of the more understanding members of your team. He’s always observing and noticing the smallest changes in behaviour. Yours and that of your colleagues. From the very first day you became part of his team he’s noticed you stare off or just cease to listen to whatever was going on around you. Lost in your own little world, not even realising the deeps sighs you let out every once in a while, mind a million miles away. Sometimes he even hears you quietly talk to yourself, hardly making out what it is you’re saying, but when he hears your laugh- that genuine one reserved for the things you truly enjoyed- he’s assured that you’re not struggling at the moment. It’s only during important meetings that he’ll gently ask you to focus and be present. If it becomes a frequent hinderance and it starts to affect your work he’ll let you know privately, knowing you well enough by now that calling you out in front of the rest would be rude.

Formaggio

He finds it rather odd, questioning if you’re not just ignoring others while you live the daydreams that are far more entertaining and sometimes even exciting than whatever is going on in reality. Formaggio won’t beat around the bush, asking you bluntly if you get bored of him. It’s only when you explain yourself that he truly understands it, making him reflect on his own behaviour instead. He does often talk to himself, commenting on his own jokes, the people around him or just a random thoughts that had to make themselves known. When he notices that familiar pacing it makes him so curious to know what you’re thinking about. Often asking you what’s on your mind, even if it doesn’t really interest him, he’ll hear you out until he gets bored. He will, however, yell at you during missions if you happen to get caught up.

Illuso

What on earth could be more important than him? To be so entranced by something else while he’s clearly posing and basking in the beauty of the evening sun, ponytails perfectly parted and cascading down his shoulders, awaiting anyone’s attention. Like a groomed show cat, he’ll get annoyed and just ask for your attention instead. Ugh, why can’t you just realise he needs to be seen and appreciated every once in a while. Snapping you out of whatever daydream that was unfolding, surprised that so much time had already past. The plot was just getting juicy. “Why don’t you just write them down like a normal person?” His insult bringing you to the realisation that it wasn’t even a bad idea. When you thank him, that determined look in your eyes still not paying the man any mind, he sighs in disappointment. But halfway through writing down whatever grasped your attention before, you got even more distracted by a newer and more interesting one, opting to just go back and have a chat with Illuso so he’ll stop bothering you for attention.

Prosciutto

He’s never minded your daydreaming, never too present to witness the more intense bouts that made you pace the floor and clench your fists like today. After many attempts at trying to grasp your attention and failing every time, he just stops you dead in your tracks. The man’s hold perhaps a bit too strong for comfort as he searches your eyes for lucidity. “Calm down, ok! You’re making me nervous.” Prosciutto is a bit of a worrier himself, just not on the outside, gears always turning and analysing his surroundings and the people in it. It only sets hims off to see you pace and mumble. But he understands, extending that kindness he offers to Pesci to you, asking if you need anything to ease you back into reality. He can be softly kind and caring, he needs the rest of team to be in top shape so you’ll all be able to count on each other.

Pesci

Pesci will stare off with you, trying to see what had captured your attention, even getting up to stand behind you to see what was so interesting. It’s only after realising you weren’t paying attention at all that he realises you were lost in a daydream. He’s a bit curious about the whole thing, carefully asking you questions. He won’t completely understand but he tries his best and offers his help. Not really sure what he can do but very adamant on offering it anyway. If it affects you during missions Pesci will be sure to gently snap you out of it.

Melone

The enigmas of the human mind greatly interest Melone, having read more than enough books on the topic during research. Not that much is clear about the treatment of it though, so he’s interested in how you handle it. He’ll be sure to ask a lot of questions, about the topics of them, what could possibly trigger them. If it’s too much or too personal he’ll stop though, however it won’t erase his curiosity. He’ll observe from a distance instead then. After yelling at him that you’re not a human experiment he’ll actually back off and stop. Don’t worry though, if you need actual help after a bad day, the daydreams not really of a positive nature anymore, he’ll try his best to calm you down. If it get’s too bad he’ll urge you to seek help with professionals.

Ghiaccio

Just like with Prosciutto it’ll set him off as well. If you’re pacing and mumbling he’ll stop you as fast as possible, it’s too distracting and it enrages his senses. Even if you’re in your own room, he’ll hear the floorboards creak and storm over. His anger can be clouding, deep down he is truly concerned for you. But it never really comes out that way, he’ll scold you and demand your attention during meetings. When you calmly tell him afterwards that it’s not really helping and his yelling could set you off, he’ll take a DEEP breath to calm himself down. Realising that perhaps his anger isn’t the best option. After the short talk he’ll be a bit more calm and less harsh, holding himself back from lashing out and instead approaching a tinge more restrained.

Sorbet & Gelato

The two like to observe you from the couch, twisted into each other’s hold. Their amusement wears off though, realising that maybe it isn’t as entertaining as they first thought. Gelato will actually try and help you, gently ushering you back to reality, while Sorbet won’t offer any support. The two will mostly worry or reprimand you if starts to affect your work though. They need to be able to count on you and your full attention. After some convincing Sorbet will soften up, if only a little, at Gelato’s request. Instead yelling at you to snap back, he’ll intently poke your arm.

[dialovers-translations]

DIABOLIK LOVERS Para-Selene Vol.3 Mukami Kou [Track 3]

Original title: 拒絶

Source: Diabolik Lovers Para-Selene Vol. 3 Mukami Kou [CD not owned by me]

Audio: Here

Seiyuu: Kimura Ryouhei

Translator’s note: I’m not a Kou stan but I can really feel his pain here. :c He is trying his hardest to get the MC to remember but his emotions keep on getting the best of him. Kou isn’t the best at dealing with rejection in general, let alone from one of the few people in the world he actually cares about. I’m really curious to see how he will overcome this crisis and use the power of TRUE LOVE to win his girl back. uwu

Track 1 ll Track 2 ll Track 3 ll Track 4 ll Track 5

→  LIKE MY TRANSLATIONS? SUPPORT ME ON KO-FI!

Track 3: Rejection

Kou slowly wakes up.

“...Oh...Huh? Where am...?”

*Rustle*

“The living room...? When did I...? ...Right!! M-neko-chan! Where is she!?”

He looks around in panic.

“She’s not here...I guess I really pushed it too far. I didn’t think I’d get that angry either, to be honest. But...It wasn’t an act. She has actually lost her memories. She had forgotten all about me, and the moments we spent together. Just earlier today we were laughing and having a good time over at the greenroom, so why!? ...I have to go look for her! And bring back her memories!”

*Rustle*

“...? The moon...There’s still two of them...Honestly, it makes me gag...!”

He leaves the room.

*TIMESKIP*

*Thud*

“...I finally found you! So this is where you’ve been.”

You turn around and try to run.

“Wait, don’t run...! About earlier, I kind of let my temper get the best of me and...I’m truly sorry! I’ve calmed down now so...Let’s put it behind us...I wouldn’t want you to be scared of me forever either. Okay?”

You frown.

“So...Have your memories returned?”

You shake your head.

“I see...Not yet.”

You start backing away again. 

“...!! Don’t run! I won’t do anything! ...Well, I guess that doesn’t sound very convincing after I snapped just earlier. ...Right! Why don’t we have dinner together? To commemorate putting our differences aside, I’d love to have some of your homemade vongole bianco!”

You tilt your head to the side.

“Right, you don’t remember. It’s my favorite dish. You’d often make it for me. If Ruki-kun was here, we could ask him directly but...Speaking of which, I wonder where everyone went? I don’t think they had plans to head out tonight? If you can’t remember how to make it, I’m sure we’ve got a recipe laying around somewhere. You can use that as a reference! I’m sure you might recall some things while cooking.”

You reluctantly nod.

“...Judging by the look on your face, you still don’t quite trust me, do you? I can tell you’re only listening because you don’t want to get yelled at. ...Well, I guess that works for now. I’m sure you’ll understand once we enjoy a meal together! Um...If I recall correctly, Ruki-kun keeps his recipes...”

*Rustle*

“Ah! Found it! ...Here you go!”

Kou hands you the recipe.

“Say, can I watch from here? I promise I won’t interfere!”

You give him permission.

“Thank you~ Please make us some delicious vongole bianco, okay?”

*Flip*

“Hehe~ It’s been a while since I’ve watched you cook. I’ve been busy as of late, so most of the time dinner is already served by the time I get back home. ...Ah! Tell me if there’s anything I should help you with! I can handle easy tasks like mixing ingredients together.”

You decline his offer.

“Is that so? ...Okay then.”

*TIMESKIP*

“...Say, M-neko-chan? Have you remembered anything?”

You shake your head.

“Not yet, huh? In that case...”

*Rustle*

“Hehe~”

You squeak.

“No need to be so surprised. I only embraced you a little, see?”

You point out that you’re cooking.

“It doesn’t matter that you’re in the middle of cooking. I felt like holding you in my arms after all. ...Look, your hands have stopped moving. You need to keep going, no?”

You tell Kou you can’t cook like this.

“That’s not true, is it? I’m sure you can still cook even like this. ...Ah! Are you perhaps nervous because I’m hugging you? Fufu~ You’re so cute, M-neko-chan. However, I’ve done this countless of times before, so do you really need to get so tense? Say? You liked it when I squeezed you tight like this, remember?”

You frown.

“Hm...This won’t do the trick either, huh? I guess they really won’t return unless there’s some sort of strong trigger. ...Say, since the first attempt failed, want to try a different method? This time, I’ll suck you gently...~”

*Smooch*

“From here, fufu~”

You start to panic. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll make you feel good. It might help bring all of your memories back! Mmh...Nn...”

*Sluuuuurp*

“Hah...The taste of your blood hasn’t changed one bit. You’ve got that dreamy look in your eyes as always too, so I wonder why your memories are the only thing still missing? ...Say? Why did you forget?”

You shrug.

“I see. You have no clue, huh? Well, I honestly don’t care why it happened as long as you remember everything. Say...I already sucked from your neck plenty earlier, so why don’t we try a different spot this time? Your shoulder...For example?”

*Rustle*

“Mmh...”

Kou bites your shoulder.

*Sluuuuurp*

“Hahn...Hey...Don’t move...You don’t want it to hurt, do you?”

*Sluuuuurp*

“I want you to feel good...Don’t you remember? I mean, you love that sorta stuff after all...”

You whimper.

“Geez, M-neko-chan, you’re tearing up~ Does it feel that good?”

You shake your head.

“No...? That’s strange...I meant to be gentle though...You’re all tensed up. Couldn’t that be why it hurts? Come on, ease up a little. Just focus on the pleasure, okay?”

You try and escape his grip.

*Rustle rustle*

“ーー Oh come on, don’t struggle! Hahn...Mmh...”

You continue to protest.

*Thud*

“...!? Why...!? I’m giving you the sweet pain you once loved so much!? So why don’t you want it...?”

You push him away as Kou loses his balance and falls to the floor.

“Argh...! Ugh...”

*THUD*

“Ah...I scraped my hand...”

You suddenly feel bad, offering to patch him up.

“It’s fine. You don’t need any treatment. It’ll heal in no time anyway...M-neko-chan? Do you dislike my touch that much? Are you that scared of me? ...I guess you are. After all, I’m nothing but a stranger to you right now.”

He slowly gets up.

“You are no longer...the same person who fell in love with me.”

*BZZZZZZT*

“Ugh...Ah...Again...”

You take a step forward. 

“Stay away...!! ...Right now, having you worry about me doesn’t make me happy at all...! What is going on!? ...Fuck!”

He collapses once more.

*Thud*

ーー TO BE CONTINUED ーー

[iaintyourbro]

The New Red Herrings: Biggs and Zack and How Avalanche Tells Us the LTD is Dead

Biggs and Zack are seemingly alive at the end of FFVII Remake Part 1 - so what does that mean? Will they live throughout the story? Maybe they’ll be like Wedge and escape death initially, only to be forced to face it shortly after?

There’s also interesting similarities on the death scenes of Biggs and Zack, A while ago I took screenshots of the “death” scene of Biggs and thought it was interesting how they had Biggs touch Cloud’s head and also made him promise something. 

And how are all these things connected to the LTD? 

Now, clearly, neither Biggs or Jessie had as dramatic of a death as Zack or Aerith. We actually see the initial injury or incident that causes each of them to die. Cloud comes upon Biggs while he’s already sitting down injured. Cloud and Tifa come to Jessie after she’s under the rubble and try to save her. 

We know Cloud pretty much loses it when Zack dies. He collapses mentally. He’s already been through enough shit to fill a lifetime, and now his only friend, his best friend, and the guy who saved his life, dies trying to get them back to Midgar. 

Why Zack is Important to Cloud

Relationship wise, Cloud obviously had a much deeper connection to Zack. At the point that Biggs dies, he doesn’t know any of that, but I think his death definitely triggers something in him. Biggs saw through Cloud’s front. We know Biggs dealt with the kids at the Leaf House, and most likely acted like a volunteer in the Big Brother program. He tells Cloud he’s got a lot in common with the kids at the Leaf House.

Zack had Cloud take on the responsibility to be his living legacy. Of course we all know he shuts down about five minutes later. Biggs had Cloud promise that this wouldn’t all be for nothing. In both cases, it doesn’t work out. He forgets what Zack told him and the Sector 7 plate still falls. 

Zack’s death has a major impact on Cloud - it’s ultimately what breaks him. It also gives us these really sad moments of somebody who’s already been through so much and is breaking now. 

Cloud is upset about Biggs. He was becoming his friend. The three Avalanche members really did accept Cloud and tried to be his friend. He was included with them - in most cases. Of course there’s the Avalanche party that he’s kicked out of (mind you - he does this to himself by acting like an ass to Barret and them) and then during Chapter 4, he’s separated to go steal Jessie’s dad’s ID. 

Ultimately, though, we know that Biggs, Wedge, and Jessie all like Cloud. They seem to see through the hard exterior pretty easily. So Cloud loses another person in his life.

The ending of FFVII Remake takes an interesting turn. Anybody who played OG or CC knows what is supposed to happen to Biggs and Zack.

But, Remake’s ending seems to imply that they survive the event that was supposed to take them out. 

Did Zack survive the last stand? Is this a case of the Last Stand in CC being combined with OG where as they walk away, Zack ends up getting shot anyway? 

So we also see Biggs.... wait, wrong picture.

That’s the right one. We get a shot of Charlie Sheen Biggs waking up in a bed in what looks like some type of either infirmary or large room. In OG, we know that all three of the Avalanche members die during the Sector 7 plate fall. In Remake, the only one we get confirmation on is Jessie, and that’s only in the Chapter description. 

Wedge we know survives until the Shinra building, where the Whispers ultimately take him out since he defied fate. 

So, what will happen to Biggs?

The biggest thing talked about seems to be the ending. Zack surviving created a lot of buzz. Is there a second timeline? Is he going to just simply walk another 10 feet and get shot in the back? Did her survive in the first place? Why does Stamp look different on that bootleg chip bag?

Will we have a beautiful Zerith reunion? 

In the OG, the Love Triangle illusion was the red herring. This was mostly to trick and distract the player to focus on something, so later they can destroy you with major twists. It also was used to get the player to like Aerith so her death would be more impactful. In addition, it makes the whole Northern Crater confession from Cloud about Tifa’s opinion being the only one that matters a slam in your face of holy shit what is going on?!

At this point, everybody and their mother knows Aerith dies. It’s not something that was kept a secret. It’s referenced in various materials. The one thing not openly referenced is what’s going on with Cloud. They never reference the Lifestream, the fake persona, or anything outside of the OG and Ultimanias. I think this is a shame since it’s such an important part of his character arc, but I get that they want to try and leave the element of surprise in play.

I think everybody would agree that the moment you find out Cloud was just a grunt that was WITH Zack during the Nibelheim incident is super powerful. I still get chills all these years later. Letting this be a well known thing would take away the element of surprise from new fans. Of course, people can go online and read blogs like this one and know all of this, but for somebody - especially future generations - who may just be looking for a new game to play, you’d want this element of surprise to stay in tact. 

We can’t use Aerith as the only red herring anymore, and we can’t use the love triangle. For many reasons. Everybody knows about it and the love triangle was a poor choice for something like this because some people missed the point completely.

Now, FFVII Twitter is always on fire. 

Also, even though the Lifestream and Cloud’s true identity are pretty well kept secrets in terms of printed media, most of the people who played FFVII Remake played the original game, they know what happens. People who were new and played Remake first most likely went and bought OG and played it. So now they know what happens. 

They knew this, or they probably wouldn’t have shown Cloud in this state, but even for those who don’t, the alternate timeline theory is born. Biggs enhances this theory because he’s alive too. How can Cloud walk past them AND be carried by Zack in some catatonic state?

It keeps us distracted. They want us to think that fate can be changed. In the case of Zack, they’re even saying that the past can be changed. 

Ultimately, whatever they do, it’ll be shocking to most players. I do trust that the devs aren’t being deceitful when they say they are going to keep the major plot points the same and FFVII will be FFVII going forward. Part 1 keeps major plot points but adds substance to a lot of things. They took out unnecessary parts and enhanced others. They also removed a lot of the love triangle stuff. 

Another striking thing with all of this is the Jessie factor. The Chapter screen tells us she died - it only says Biggs was seriously injured. That hasn’t stopped speculation.

The ending shows gloves on the table next to Biggs’ bed and a lot people said oh it’s Jessie’s left glove! And it does appear that it is. There’s only one glove. To me, this seems like they recovered her body and were able to pull of some personal affects of hers to leave with Biggs. Both articles look damaged or faded. 

Faded could mean they’ve been sitting in the sun for a while. The incident happened a few days ago, though we don’t have a definitive time on when we’re shown Biggs. This could be a future look.

They also could simply be damaged and full of dust from the plate collapse. 

It is implied in Chapter 4 if you listen to the conversation between Jessie’s mom and the gang that Biggs and Jessie have a different relationship than Wedge and Jessie. 

I have some thoughts on what this may mean:

Biggs is Jessie’s BFF and her mom likes him.

Jessie and Biggs dated at one point and decided to not tell her mom that they no longer are or that its casual.

Jessie’s mom was hounding Jessie about finding a man so she picked Biggs to be her pretend boyfriend and he agreed.

Biggs and Jessie are secretly dating and only her mom knows.

Which one do I think it is? Well, knowing Jessie, I can definitely see her doing #3. I can absolutely see her acting like Biggs is her boyfriend to get her mom off her back. I think #1 and #2 are also huge possibilities. #4 is far fetched, but they could cover it up by having Jessie flirt relentlessly with Cloud and appear to be single. 

Some people think that Jessie will end up at the Gold Saucer singing. Personally, I really hope not. If they keep a bunch of people alive (even if it’s for a short amount of time), it really takes away one of the major themes of FFVII which is death and moving on. In addition, I think it’s too many people they’d need to kill off later. Jessie is a very popular character, so I hope they don’t take that as an incentive to change that aspect of the story. 

Aerith’s funeral and Jessie’s death are similar as well, so I think it is foreshadowing some things. 

We get a princess style carry here. Aerith and Jessie both get these in Remake. Jessie’s second one ends in her death. Will Aerith get a second princess carry by Cloud? Will it be to take her to her final resting place?

Maybe she won’t even go to the lake - maybe to the sky?

We know Tifa was super upset in OG, and they really don’t touch on it much. We only see her run away crying after this moment. You learn in Case of Tifa that she’s really upset about, but a lot of people don’t read Case of Tifa, so they only know this scene. 

We know that she gets very upset over Jessie’s death.

I think Aerith’s death will be much worse. 

It seems Jessie’s death is a reference to how Aerith’s death was handled in the OG.

Will it be handled the same? Maybe. I think they’re going to make it seem like she’s going to be okay, and then boom.

So the ending gives us hope that we have two friends that are alive. It makes us think that we can save Aerith. I do think Wedge’s death towards the end and comments that Red XIII made in Chapter 17 may also be hinting towards the fact that you cannot change the past and you cannot change fate. 

Over on Discord, @anesuna​ brought up a good point about Wedge’s cats. Biggums survives the plate collapse along with Wedge. The other two cats - Reggie and Smalls - sadly perish (::cries a lot::). This could also be a reference that Biggs survived while Jessie and Wedge do not. 

So what about the LTD?

I think this is a heavy reference to the old OG love triangle. Don’t fall for it! They’re warning players now instead of wanting them to fall for it. 

Why do I say this? Aerith seemed to think the love triangle was fun. Thing is, Cloud wasn’t all there at this point, so it was just an illusion. Since players didn’t seem to get that the first time, they’re going to make it clear now. There were a lot of aspects they seemed to take from Aerith and give to Jessie. Overly flirty (with Jessie they added thirsty) and being overly childish at times. Aerith in remake is still somewhat childish, but not completely.

Oblivious Cloud is Oblivious. Yeah, he was oblivious in OG that Aerith and Tifa had feelings for him. He has no idea what Wedge is talking about now. Earlier in this same conversation he thinks that Wedge is telling him not to come around because people will gossip about Jessie being in Avalanche, but the player knows really what he’s referring to...

I think this is probably a reference to the Gold Saucer date because of the stage part. I take things at face value and don’t really dig too deep, but I think this exchange with Wedge is supposed to tell the player not to fall for these false loves early in the game.

It’s brought up again during Aerith’s resolution scene.

Earlier Wedge said not to fall for Jessie’s trick, because it was a game to her. It wasn’t real love. Aerith is now telling her that if Cloud thinks he falls in love with her, it’s not real. 

We have two separate instances in the game where they’re telling you to beware of the false love. It’s two times the word love is used. 

After all of this, the ending presents us with two guys who should be dead that appear to be alive. One of them is directly connected to Aerith.

This was their way of trying to shut down the LTD and replace it with different red herrings. Will it work as well as the LTD? Well, it seems that the majority of FFVII Remake fans have talked about the ending.

Yes, a lot of people talk about the LTD, but I think the majority of players are more interested overall in what happens next and what’s up with Zack. I think the majority of the fandom is also ready for the LTD to officially be dead so we can actually focus on everything else and stop the madness. 

It’ll never fully stop, but at least it’ll be clear for anybody who plays the game and alleviate the bulk of the chaos. 

Say hello to your new red herrings: Biggs and Zack. 

Say bye to the LTD.

[grailfinders]

Fate and Phantasms #182

Today marks the end of the Dead Heat Summer Race builds as we finish up with today’s sponsor, Ishtar (Rider)! “Ishtar is best girl, and you should give all your grails and QP to her!” Now that the ad copy’s out of the way, let’s get to her build. For this build we’re re-flavoring an old UA to create the Traveler Sorcerer (original names for everything can be found in the character sheet.) We also dip into Monk for a level because the 20th level of sorcerer is bad.

Check out her build breakdown below the cut, or her character sheet over here!

Next up: BB 2: Electric Boogaloo

Race and Background

Ishtar’s still a Protector Aasimar and she’s also still a Goddess Alliance Anarch, which means she starts out with +1 Wisdom and +2 Charisma, Darkvision, Celestial Resistance to necrotic and radiant damage, Healing Hands to slap healing into people as an action, and the Light cantrip to help out racers with dumb human eyes.

She also gets Animal Handling and Religion proficiency from her background, as well as extra spells. We’ll get into detail about that last bit as it comes up though.

Ability Scores

Not a whole lot has changed since last time; make sure your Charisma is as high as possible for good spells and good Tricking People into a Race, then make Dexterity number two to stay on your scooter as you warp between continents. Your Wisdom should also be pretty good if you want to keep an eye on anyone trying to cheat by entering a rocket into a- hold on a second.

Where were we? Oh right, after that is Constitution. Gods don’t die. Your Strength is a bit low, but we’ll make up for that with technique and speed, so dump Intelligence. Once a Useless Goddess, always a Useless Goddess.

Class Levels

Sorcerer 1: First level sorcerers get proficiency with Constitution and Charisma saving throws, as well as two sorcerer skills. Grab Deception and Persuasion so we can get this show on the road. As a sorcerer, your Spells (which you can cast using your charisma) come from a special source, which in your case is the magic of Travel. You picked a pretty bad time for it, but I’m pretty sure gods can’t get sick? Humans can though. Stay home if you’re a human. At first level, you have a Soul of the Race, giving you a swim speed equal to your walking speed, and you can breathe underwater. DHSR is probably the least water-based summer event so far, but you get a bonus in all the other ones too, so it’ll pay off if you’re patient. You can also invoke the Curse of the Race after hitting a creature with a cantrip, lasting until the end of your next turn or until you curse another creature. Once per turn, you can trigger the curse by hitting the creature with a spell that has one of three requirements. If it deals cold damage, their speed is reduced by 15′ for a turn, or by the amount the spell already slows them by, whichever is greater. (You say you don’t play favorites, but that’s a lie.) If it deals lightning damage, it deals extra damage equal to your charisma modifier. If it forces movement, add 15 feet to the distance moved. Perfect for when you have to ground a rocket. You get a lot of spells this level, like Sword Burst for a good melee option while we wait to multiclass, True Strike so your punches can be slightly less bad, Friends to help coerce people into the race, and Prestidigitation to make yourself some free gems. For leveled spells, grab Chaos Bolt and Chromatic Orb for ways to trigger your curse with plausable deniability. Chromatic Orb even uses a diamond to cast, flavor win! You also get plenty of spells from your background for some more... “explosive” results. You get the cantrips Fire Bolt and Produce Flame, and the spells Compelled Duel, Speak with Animals, and Thunderwave.

Sorcerer 2: Compared to level 1, this level’s got a lot less going on. You become a Font of Magic to get your sorcerer level in sorcery points each long rest, which are mostly going to be useful at third level, and you can cast Distort Value to make your gems even more beautiful just by being around you.

Monk 1: Yeah, let’s just slide this in right now, why not? First level monks get Unarmored Defense to make your AC 10 + your dexterity modifier + your wisdom modifier. It’s not quite as good as mage armor, but it’s free. You also get Martial Arts, meaning your unarmed attacks use dexterity instead of strength, deal 1d4 damage, and you can attack as a bonus action if you attack as an action. Honestly you could’ve just used a knife before, but this is more flavorful. You also get to unleash your Radiant Soul as an action. You transform into a fancy shiny version, granting you flight and extra radiant damage once per turn.

Sorcerer 3: Third level sorcerers can spend their sorcery points on Metamagic to mix up your magic in a meta way. Extended Spell doubles the length of a spell’s duration, (very useful later) and Twinned Spell lets you take any spell that hits one target and make it hit two instead. You’re going to make a scooter fly eventually, it might be worth it to make sure you fly too. Fewer broken bones that way. For your first second level spell, grab Alter Self as one last preparation to trick people into racing by transforming into those close to them. You can’t change your general body type though, so you can’t turn into Charon to get Achilles to help out. Alternatively, you can use this to make natural weapons that deal 1d6 magical damage, and get a +1 bonus to your attacks and damage. Even sorcerers can do monk stuff faster than monks. You also get more background spells, like Beast Sense and Shatter. If you need to knock a rocket back to earth in the first place, it deserves to get wrecked.

Sorcerer 4: Use your first Ability Score Improvement to bump up your Charisma for stronger spells. You also learn Dancing Lights to put on a show at the opening ceremonies, and you can cast Find Vehicle from the Modern Magic UA to summon your scooter. Technically it can be any nonmilitary land vehicle, but no matter what it is it comes with some perks. You’re automatically proficient with its handling, and double your proficiency when making ability checks about driving it. Also, spells you cast on yourself can also effect the vehicle, so I guess that twinned spell doesn’t help here. At least it gives you more damage.

Sorcerer 5: Fifth level sorcerers have Magical Guidance, making them just a bit better at everything than normal people. By spending sorcery points, you can re-roll a failed skill check, hopefully doing better. You also learn how to cast Haste to speed up your scooter to the maximum. You also learn Conjure Animals and Conjure Barrage from your background. The latter doesn’t really see play, but the former will make it a lot easier to recreate your final ascension art.

Sorcerer 6: A sixth level Traveler can use their Accel Turn to avoid damage as a reaction. When you get hit by anything dealing bludgeoning, piercing, or slashing damage, you can reduce it by your sorcerer level plus your charisma score (not your modifier, your entire score) and move 30′ away without provoking attacks. You can use this once per short rest. You can also cast Fly now. I don’t think you ever actually touch the ground, do you? (You get resistance to fire damage too. Suck it, Icarus!)

Sorcerer 7: Seventh level sorcerers get fourth level spells, like Dimension Door. It’s not a fantastical trip through the world’s greatest capitals, but all teleportation has to start somewhere. And for you, that somewhere is 500′ away.

Sorcerer 8: Use your next ASI to become a Magic Initiate to steal a couple spells from the Wizard spell list. Grab the cantrips Gust and Minor Illusion for an easy way to trigger your curse and so you can make cool holograms to go with your communications (coming later). You can also cast Find Familiar once per long rest to make a little doll you that can help out the racers. You can also cast Charm Monster now. It won’t be enough to convince Lobo to change sides, but it’ll make it much easier to find judges for the other legs of the race.

Sorcerer 9: If your DM’s a stickler against UA, you can use your fifth level spell slots to cast Animate Objects instead to bring a chair to life or something. You also learn Destructive Wave. Probably shouldn’t use that one while riding.

Sorcerer 10: Grab the new Metamagic option Seeking Spell for more accurate spells, re-rolling a failed spell attack. Your curse is based entirely on being able to hit people with your spells, so it’d be nice if you could do that. You also learn how to use Message to keep up communications with the racers even if they’re, say, stuck in prison somewhere, and you can use Far Step to teleport you and your scooter around in short bursts, using your bonus action each turn.

Sorcerer 11: Use your fancy new sixth level spell slots to create an Arcane Gate, creating portals between a point within 10′ of you and a point within 500′ of you. You can also spin them around as a bonus action, so feel free to get Looney Tunes with it.

Sorcerer 12: Use this ASI to max out your Charisma for stronger spells, then use that last remaining point to bump up your Dexterity. That doesn’t really help yet, but trust me on this one.

Sorcerer 13: Good news; you can finally Teleport now. The bad news is it’s a seventh level spell. Also, it has a slight chance to mess up, and if you’re traveling across the globe “messing up” by even one percent means you’re several hundred miles off course.

Sorcerer 14: At fourteenth level you finally get another Travel Souvenir, the ability to open a Maana Gate without using spells, making it easier to move around a battle field. When you move on your turn, you take half damage from opportunity attacks, and can move through enemy spaces (as long as you don’t end your turn there.) You can also pass through solid objects, as long as there’s at least a 3 inch diameter space to move through. (again, you can’t end your turn there.)

Sorcerer 15: Fifteenth level sorcerers get eighth level spells, and I highly suggest you go with Sunburst. Being able to teleport all over the place is fun, but if you’re trying to replicate Ishtar’s NP you actually need a payoff at the end, and that’s this spell. Deal tons of radiant damage with all those shiny stars, and blind creatures that fail their constitution save.

Sorcerer 16: Use this ASI to become more Resilient when it comes to dexterity saves. You gain proficiency in them, and you also get +1 dexterity for your troubles. That bumps you up to an even number again, so your AC improves, as do your unarmed strikes.

Sorcerer 17: Seventeenth level sorcerers get their final level 9 spell, and yours is Gate. This lets you create a portal to a precise location for up to a minute, with no chance of mucking up unless a nearby deity isn’t a fan. The downside is this specifically only works on extraplanar trips, but I’m sure you can find enough sightseeing locations to make that work. To make travel even faster, you get your final Metamagic option, Quickened Spell. Cast action spells as a bonus action now, yay.

Sorcerer 18: At eighteenth level you receive your final souvenir, a Traveler’s Soul. Now you don’t need to eat, drink, or sleep, you can ignore critical hits against you, as they only count as normal hits, and you have resistance to bludgeoning, piercing, and slashing damage. People seem to focus on the “useless” part of your title way more than the “goddess” part. Show them why they shouldn’t do that.

Sorcerer 19: Use your last ASI for the Tough feat to grab 40 more HP. Goddess or not, nobody wants to get Power Word Killed.

Pros:

Your various defensive features make you surprisingly tanky for a spellcaster, with plenty of ways to negate common damage types and stay out of trouble.

Speaking of, thanks to your flying moped and teleporting you can be extremely mobile when you want to be, making it a real pain to keep you pinned down long enough to fight you.

You come packed with plenty of social spells giving you plenty of options to get away with stuff you shouldn’t. Break into secure areas, impersonate people, and charm foes.

Cons:

Your subclass’ features mostly focus on lightning and cold damage. Your damage dealing spells mostly come from your background, which focuses on fire and thunder. This means you can’t use your early subclass features to their fullest potential, which can make early fights difficult if you’re playing to character. That’s why I recommend you start off with Chaos Bolt and Chromatic Orb- they can be used practically at the start, then Ishtar-ly later on.

The curse of the sea is finicky, and it’s the only offensively minded feature you really get. It restricts your damage types, and it comes into play only every third turn unless you’re using nothing but cantrips. You can definitely feel this is a UA class.

You only have about 140 HP, and very little way to deal with magic damage. All of your defenses only worry about damage types associated with physical attacks, so most spells can still chew through you if you’re not careful.